Astray
by LiteratureDarling
Summary: Post War AU: Fred has loved Hermione since they were both children, back when the world was ending and she mooned over Ron. Now that the war is over, and Hermione and Ron's ill matched relationship has ended, Fred realizes that he might finally have a chance.
1. Preface

**Preface: The Hogwarts Years**

 **1994: January**

The air in the quiet room was warm for the season, smelling of rain and earth and cinnamon. It never rained this early into the year, but it was. One of the boys had left the window in their dormitory open and the winter thunderstorm had soaked a pile of parchment on the nearby desk. Fred Weasley started awake when the wind knocked the window against its frame with a metallic thud. It hadn't been raining when he fell asleep. He blinked slowly for a few moments as he stumbled across the room, letting his eyes adjust, his feet cold against the wooden floor. He cursed audibly as he realized the ruined essay had been for his potions class the next day. A loud snore from a nearby Lee Jordan only heightened his frustration. Why wouldn't one of the idiots close the effing window? He picked up the dripping homework assignment and, careful not to damage it, headed down towards the common room. Even in his annoyance he didn't want to wake anyone with a drying spell.

It was nearly four in the morning, but a small fire was still burning. Fred dropped the parchment on a low table and tried to remember a spell that would fix it. A soft exhalation of breath from the other side of the room caught his attention. Someone was asleep on the couch. This wasn't an abnormal occurrence, but usually the last person out of the common room would wake whoever was sleeping. He moved a little closer towards the fire, just enough to peer over the edge of the couch. Hermione Granger lay curled inward, almost fetal. He watched her for a moment, as her sleeping face turned towards him slightly. Fred didn't notice the tears, at least not right away. For several long seconds his focus lay on the curve of her jaw and the ways sleep made all of her features softer. It was when his eyes moved downward, from the unruly and twisting hair, that he noticed the soft reflection of firelight on fresh tears. She was crying. Something moved in him, a tenderness he hadn't felt before. It wasn't brotherly, it was deeper and more shaking. He took another step forward, bending slightly more forward, as he tried to think what sadness this girl could feel that would be deep enough to weave itself into her dreams. He knew Ron and Harry were fighting with her, or had been fighting. Had they made up yet? He remembered that Hermione had not sat with them at any meals, or had they not sat with her? He regretted not paying attention when his youngest brother talked. Most of the time he tuned Ron's incessant complaining out, but not he tried to recall any hint.

The girl in front of him stirred, her shoulders shuddering slightly, and her breath hitched. A soft whimper escaped her lips. He felt it against his face, warm and heartbreaking. He watched as a few more tears slid from the corners of her eyes. Before he understood what he was doing, he was reaching out. He stared on, like a horrified observer, as his own hand softly swiped one of those tears from her cheek. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers, the tear spreading out against the swirls of fingerprint on his thumb.

There were footsteps up in the dormitory. Probably someone getting up to use the toilet, but all the same it knocked Fred from his trance-like state. He backed away from her, heading back up the stairs as quickly as possible, having completely forgotten the ruined potions essay.

 **1994: December**

Fred hadn't wanted to take Angelina to the ball. In fact, he hadn't wanted to go at all. But he would never admit to either of those things, not even to George. He had picked Angelina to ask because, in all honesty, he thought she would turn him down. Alicia had told him at the beginning of term that Angelina fancied George, and as it was common knowledge that George had asked Katie Bell. So Fred had assumed that Angelina wouldn't agree to go with him. But he had been wrong, and so he found himself at the Yule Ball trying not to fiddle with the cuffs of his dress robe or stare too long at Hermione.

Of the two, the latter was proving most difficult. He wasn't stupid, ever since that night in the common room he had looked at her differently. He seemed to notice more about her, like the way she would scrunch up her nose when reading a particularly difficult section of a book. Or how she always spread jam onto her toast with a spoon and not a knife. Or how she always walked the long way down through the courtyard between her charms and transfiguration classes as to avoid the crowded third floor corridor. Due to this last discovery, Fred had begun spending his free hour on Mondays sitting in the courtyard. On random occasions, every third Monday, he would happen to make eye contact with the girl. She would smile. Even the thought of it made his cheeks warm slightly. It wasn't as if he fancied her. No. He just enjoyed her smile. It wasn't a crime to think a girl pretty.

Angelina pulled him from his chair. Dragging him in the direction of the dance floor. He couldn't help but wonder if it was all a show for her. If she was dancing and laughing just to show George how great of a time she was having without him. Whatever the reason Fred did his best. He spun her around the floor gracefully, not mentioning when she stepped on his toe. He was nothing if not a good date. But he wasn't watching his dance partner. His gaze wandered to Hermione, dressed in the most beautiful shade of blue he had ever seen. She was swaying slowly with Krum, his hand placed firmly on her lower back. He placed a sloppy kiss at the base of her neck, and something hot and angry sprung up in Fred. Turning away, Fred found that Ron's face held an expression that mirrored what he felt internally. It was caught somewhere between anger and disgust with the tiniest twinge of pain. He shook his head at his brother's inability to control his facial expressions, but all the same. In that moment, as both boys watched Hermione's hand rub a small circle between Krum's shoulder blades, Fred felt as if he-for once-was on the same page as his baby brother.

 **1995: July**

Fred couldn't deny it any longer. He fancied Hermione. Really it was George that made him see it. His twin was far more discerning about Fred's emotions than he was. Not one week into the summer holiday, George had cornered him in their bedroom.

"You have a crush on Hermione." He had stated, a laugh cutting off the end of her name.

"Shove off." Fred had said, turning back to the book he was reading. George moved closer to him, stifling his smile.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." He said. "I just can't believe that out of every girl at Hogwarts, hell, every girl in the world, you decide to fancy the same girl as Ron." Another laugh broke from between his lips. "What luck!"

"I don't fancy-" Fred began but George cut him off.

"Don't lie to me. We don't do that." He said, his tone more serious. "Since last year you've been strange around her. And now that she's here for the summer you barely leave the room, and at dinner last night it was like your eyes were glued to her. I'm just suprised she hasn't noticed." Fred shook his head.

"Just because I think she's pretty doesn't mean I want to go and marry her. You think lots of girls are pretty."

"There is a difference." George said. "You watch her, it's like every thing she does enwraps you. And we're different, Forge." He said, using the playful nickname in an attempt to add some lightness to the tense room. "I don't do relationships. I do secret snogging." He waggled his eyebrows. "But really, you can't help that you like her. And if it came down to it, you're a much better guy than Ron. Plus," He said with a wink "You are the second most attractive of us Weasley's." Fred shoved George off his bed.

"Yeah. Right behind Bill." They broke into laughter again, and George hadn't brought it up again for the rest of the summer. But later, has Fred lay awake, he realized that George was right. He fancied Hermione, and that made everything so much more complicated. With this admission, he found it was even harder to spend the entire summer in her presence. Especially since Ron stared longingly after her and finding any excuse to lay a hand on her arm or leg as they spoke. Whenever this happened, Fred would feel his stomach knot itself up. Hermione was never quick to shy from Ron's affection, and so Fred had taken to spending most days in his bedroom, living for the moments she would pop her head in to tell him it was time for dinner.

 **1995: November**

Fred was having trouble producing the patronus charm. The other members of the D.A. were gathered in small circles around the secret room, practicing fighting off imaginary dementors. He could make one. George and him had practiced last week in the dormitory, he just couldn't in that moment.

"Are you totally focused on it?" Harry asked, Fred nodded.

"I'll get it mate, don't worry. Why don't you go help Neville, the poor thing looks lost." Harry chuckled and walked away. Once he was gone, Fred sighed. He knew he wasn't focused. In his line of sight, standing between Ginny and Ron was Hermione. She, of course, could cast the spell perfectly. Her patronus danced around the room. Ginny whispered something into her ear and Hermione's face lit with laughter. A smile tugged at the corner of Fred's mouth.

"Yeah. Definitely focused." George said, elbowing him the ribs. Fred turned away from the girl.

"Sorry." George laughed,

"Me too."

"For what?"

"This." George said, smiling wickedly. "Hey Hermione!" He called just loud enough for her to hear over the general din of the room. She looked up, and he motioned her over. As she crossed the room to them, Fred muttered the tiniest stinging hex aimed at George's left leg. "Shit." George muttered as he felt it, elbowing Fred in the ribs again right as Hermione stopped in front of them.

"Hey." George said, his voice slightly tighter, probably due to the welt that was forming on his left calf. "Freddie here is struggling with the patronus charm." George said.

"I am not!" Fred interrupted, but George waved him off.

"He is. And I think it's because of how he's moving his wand, but he won't listen to me. Poor thing was too embarrassed to ask Harry for help, so I thought maybe you could give him a few pointers." A smile was threatening to break the mask of concern George was holding. Hermione didn't seem to notice. She turned to Fred,

"Show me your wand movement, but don't say the spell." Fred, hating George with everything in him, did as he was told. Hermione furrowed her brow. Fred jumped as she placed her hand over his.

"Sorry." She muttered, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks. Fred thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Her hand still covering his as he held the wand, she practiced the motion with him. "See, she said. Make sure it's fluid. If you get choppy with it, like Ron, you're never going to get it." Hands still moving, Fred looked down at her. She seemed to feel his glance, as she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. Neither said anything. Her eyes were brown, he knew that already. But he had never been close enough to notice the tiny flecks of gold around the iris.

"Thanks." He whispered. She stopped the motion of their hands, but didn't unwrap her hand from his. Where their skin met, it felt to Fred as if she were setting him on fire. He wouldn't have been surprised to look back and see charred skin. But there was no way in hell he was breaking eye contact with her.

"You're welcome." She whispered back. "Don't feel embarrassed about asking for help. Having imperfect wand technique doesn't change the fact that you are one of the most brilliant people in this room." He couldn't breathe. His lungs couldn't fill due to the overwhelming pound of his heart.

"Not as brilliant as you, 'Mione." Another blush creeped into view and she blinked rapidly. With the breaking of eye contact, she quickly removed her hand. Straightening her robes, she cleared her throat and gave a nervous laugh.

"Well." She said, no longer whispering. "You've got it now. Just...just keep practicing." She turned and quickly returned to Ginny's side.

"I take back my apology." George said. "That was some of the most romantic tension I have ever seen."

"Shut it." Fred said, but his voice sounded distant. "I am not afraid to jinx you again." George took a step away, but fred didn't notice. Fred didn't notice anything, save for the smell of her that lingered and way way his hand still felt the weight of her grip. What pulled him from his euphoric state though was Ron, standing on the other side of the room, glowering in his direction.


	2. Part 1:

Part 1:

The pot on the stove was boiling over, spitting water out onto the floor. A basket of nearby potatoes, not yet placed in the pot, were sweating in the humidity of the kitchen. George sat at the table, writing illegibly on a scrap of parchment. His knee bouncing in concentration. Fred, still groggy from his nap, walked into the kitchen. He noticed the steam collected on the window, and the way the water rushed down the glass in ever growing droplets. It wasn't until he heard the splash of hot water on linoleum tile that he turned to the stove.

"Oi!" He said loudly, startling George from his writing. Fred quickly moved the pot from the heat, careful not to slip on the water.

"Sorry!" George said, looking sheepish.

"Why are you cooking the muggle way?" Asked Fred, using his wand to dry the floor. George furrowed his brow in embarrassment.

"I couldn't find my wand." He said gesturing around as if to show all the places it wasn't. "I looked everywhere, and I got hungry so I figured I would boil some potatoes. How hard could it be?" Fred laughed, opening up the refrigerator. There on the shelf, was George's wand.

"You mean this wand?" He tossed it to his brother with a laugh "Careful, you might want to let it defrost for an hour or so before using it." He fished out a leftover take-away container and used a quick warming spell on it. "Here." He said, spilling half of the rice and chicken into a bowl and handing the rest to George. George grunted in thanks.

"We going to the Burrow for dinner?" Fred asked. George shrugged his shoulders,

"As long as Verity can close the shop it should be fine." They hadn't made it over to the family dinners in several weeks, and the stacks of take-away containers of various ages that piled up in the fridge was all the proof George needed that they couldn't put it off any longer.

"She can, I asked her this morning." Fred seemed lighter, a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "We should leave by four, just so we're there early." George watched him for a moment, and then scowled.

" _She's_ going to be there isn't she." Fred focused very hard on keeping his expression blank.

"Who?" He asked with as little interest as he could. "Verity?" George stood up, grabbing the stack of parchment.

"You know who." He said, "You are a twenty-two year old man. Shit. Pull yourself together." He whacked Fred on the side of the head with his empty hand. "Every time Hermione comes up you turn into a third year with a silly crush."

"I do not!" Fred said, rubbing the place where George's hand had made contact.

"Really?" George said, moving towards the door. "Then why is it you only suggest we go to Mum's for dinner on the weekends when Ron the night shift? Huh?" George waited for a moment but Fred did not respond, so he soldiered on. "Because you know those are the only weeks Hermione will make an appearance." He laughed, moving into his bedroom. "Honestly, how she hasn't figured it out by now is beyond me. Brightest witch of her age my ass." He gave another laugh before closing the door and leaving Fred alone in the kitchen. He knew George was right, the only times Fred even suggested they make an appearance at the Burrow was when Hermione was there. He couldn't help it. How could he pass up an opportunity to see her like that, relaxed. The only other time they interacted was if Fred stopped into the ministry. Occasionally he would go to file a form or apply for a permit for one of their new inventions. On these occasions, he would always stop by the fourth floor to visit Hermione. She would be happy to see him, but as it had been in their school years, work always came first. That was one of the only things that had stayed the same since Hogwarts, her dedication to her responsibilities. Well that, and Fred's feelings towards her. Of course with age he changed. It became less of a schoolboy crush, where all he wanted was to kiss her in a secret corridor. Instead it had deepened, it had seeded and grown deep inside of him into a level of real affection that had taken him by surprise. She no longer consumed his every thought, but when she was near him it was as if a part of him had come home. An ache in his chest that he hadn't even noticed was healed. He felt safe in a way that slowed his heart rate and drew an uncontrollable smile to his lips.

His thoughts danced around Hermione. How long had it been since he had last seen her? A month? Two? He wasn't obsessive enough to keep careful track of the dates, but he knew it had been too long. For the past week he had been trying to think up an excuse for a trip to the ministry. He had even gone as far as contemplating visiting Ron. That had been a short lived plan. The two had always been distant, this was most likely due to the fact that Fred had held a flame for Ron's best friend and then girlfriend, and now ex girlfriend. It made the whole brotherly love thing complicated. But that wasn't the entire reason. Ron was distant. The war had changed all of them, but for Ron the effects were harsher. He was angry, not just the quick temper that had always ruled him, but something more, something darker. It boiled below the surface, and it was hard to ignore. Although Fred couldn't be sure, he would have bet the shop that his brother's anger was a primary factor in the end of his relationship with Hermione. So he guessed one good thing came out of it.

George emerged from his room and walked into the bathroom without stopping to look at Fred. He heard the shower turn on with a hiss, and Fred glanced down at his watch. Shit. It was later than he thought.

Fred spent the remainder of the afternoon trying on the same three shirts over and over again. He couldn't decide. Well he began with four but ruled the patterned one out pretty quickly. He had worn it on the day Hermione told him of her breakup. Whenever he saw it he thought of her tear swollen eyes, and the bite of firewhiskey on her breath. Definitely not that one. It seemed so silly to him, but he wanted it to be the perfect mix of carefree and put together. When he pulled the deep green sweater down over his head for the fourth time, he heard a laugh from the door.

"Come on mate." Said George, tapping his wrist. "We're going to miss the food."

"How does this one look?" Fred asked.

"Fine." George said, motioning his arms towards the door. "Let's go." Fred hesitated and George sighed. "It's dinner, Fred. No gives a rat's ass how you're dressed." Fred conceded and followed his brother out of the room. "Don't you want a coat?" George asked, gesturing to the wool coat slung over his arm.

"We aren't going to set foot outside." He argued.

"True," George replied. "Plus if the sweater was any indication it would be tomorrow by the time you got around to deciding what coat to wear." He laughed, pulling a handful of floo powder from the glass bowl atop the mantel.

"I only have the one." Fred said back.

"It was a joke." George said, watching the flames turn a bright green. "Lighten up man. It'll be hard to sit at dinner if you don't pull that stick out of your ass, besides it might rip your pants." He laughed again, dodging the soft punch Fred directed at his shoulder. "The Burrow." George called before stepping into the flames. Fred cracked a smile, as he threw his own handful of floo powder into the fire. He really did need to lighten up. He thought of Hermione, probably already at the Burrow, and the way she smiled at him, and he felt his own mouth lift into a smile. "The Burrow." He said into the empty flat, feeling a log break beneath his foot as he stepped into the fire.

Author's Note: Hello friends. Here is the first part, let me know what you think! Today women, and people of all genders, marched across the globe. I wasn't able to go to the nearest U.S. embassy to march, but I am thankful for all of you who did make it out today. You are world changers, be proud.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.


	3. Part 2:

Part 2:

The sun was just beginning to set, coloring the clouds above the Burrow deep orange and pink. The ground was still stiff with frost from the night before, the day never getting warm enough to melt the thin layers of ice off of each blade of grass. Fred stood facing the window that looked out to the dirt road and the leaning wooden fence that snaked along beside it.

"Watching for something?" Ginny said from behind him, making him jump. He turned to her, watching her smile grow as she examined his face.

"No," He said carefully,

"You sure?" She pressed, taking a sip from the wine glass she held carefully. "Because I happen to know that Hermione hates using the floo system and always apparates outside the wards and then walks down that very path to the house." She raised an eyebrow, mimicking the expression he so often did during their childhood.

"Shove off." He muttered, no real malice in his voice. Ginny had goaded him ever since the final battle about Hermione. Fred had been injured, worse than any of the other Weasley's, and was in the makeshift corridor hospital at Hogwarts that first night before being transferred to St. Mungos for a month. Ginny claims that the night at Hogwarts she had left Harry and the others to check on Fred, and that while she was there she heard him mumbling in his sleep. Specifically, that he had whispered Hermione's name over and over. His voice hoarse and sleep filled, but she says she is sure. Since then, she never missed an opportunity to poke at him. He had never given in or admitted anything to her, and she never truly asked.

He barked out a laugh, and plucked the wine glass from her hand, swallowing the remaining third of the dark liquid.

"I'm sure. Just admiring the sunset." She huffed and opened her mouth to protest as he returned the now empty glass into her hand, but he walked out through the kitchen and into the living room, allowing himself to be swallowed in the noise of the place. He quickly joined in the conversation, laughing at all the right moments. He tried his best to keep his focus on the room and not to turn around and glance out the window every few moments.

In the din of the room he barely heard the squeak of the kitchen door being pushed open, but when he did his heartbeat quickened the way it always did when she arrived. He glanced at George who was watching him with a bemused look in his eye. George lifted a finger and tapped his cheek, and Fred knew that meant he was blushing. Using every bit of self control he had, Fred didn't turn and watch her enter the room. Instead he listened for her, keeping his eyes on Harry and feigning interest in whatever he was saying. He heard her shoes against the tile of the kitchen, each step bringing her closer. It had been so long. His ears were burning, knowing that any second the space would be filled with her voice and he would have every excuse to turn and take the sight of her in.

"Hello everyone!" She called once she was through the doorway into the packed sitting room. He shifted in his chair slowly and fixed what he hoped was an appropriately pleasant smile onto his face. In those brief moments where conversation stilled and Mrs. Weasley stood to gather Hermione into a hug, Fred took the opportunity to look at her. He noticed that her hair seemed shorter. He couldn't decide if she had cut it or if it was just the way she had pinned it back from her face. She tugged off her coat, the zipper snagging a button on her gray sweater. She pulled it free and looked up, meeting Fred's stare. Shit. He looked too long. She gave him a small smile, and he nodded at her. She had worked her way far enough into the room that he could smell her perfume. He was trying his best to come up with something to say to her. Something beyond the usual casual pleasantries they managed. But before he could think of something, Mrs. Weasley began pushing everyone in the direction of the dining room. As he passed by her, Fred managed a quiet "It's good to see you 'Mione." She smiled again, this time with a bit more warmth. To his surprise she laid a hand on his upper arm,

"You too!" She said back, removing her hand and turning towards George. "It's been too long since I've seen the two of you." Fred's heart, which had soared at the feeling of the weight of her hand against him plummeted at the almost flippant way she addressed George and him as a singular unit. His hope was always to be seen by her as separate from her brother, different.

The night unfolded around the family with no surprises. Dinner turned into dessert, which turned into drinks and a few rounds of exploding snap. Percy left early, as he always did, before most had finished their drinks he was ducking through the fireplace and back to whatever lonely life Fred assumed he led outside the walls of the Burrow. When the clock in the kitchen showed that it was nearly midnight, Mrs. Weasley planted kisses on each of the remaining guests foreheads and followed Mr. Weasley up the stairs, leaving the young people watching George and Harry play an evenly matched game of chess. Somehow, Fred ended up on the couch next to Hermione. She was leaning back, her legs tucked underneath her and her shoulder was pressed against his. It was simple contact, and he would have bet money that she didn't even notice she was touching him. She let out a happy sigh.

"I always forget how much I enjoy being here until I am, you know." Fred let out a grunt of agreement, watching as she pushed a curl from her face. He felt that sleepy warm feeling of near perfect contentment as he sat there. His mind was moving slower and he tried to capture every moment into memory. He didn't even care that Ginny, who was on the floor leaning against Harry's legs, kept glancing over towards where Hermione and he sat. Hermione continued and he once again returned his attention to her face, "It feels almost like we're back at school, you know?"

"But better." Fred said, without thinking.

"What do you mean?" She asking, sitting up a little straighter, shoulder moving away from him. He felt cold where she had been. Fred's mind raced. What did he mean? Well he really meant that at Hogwarts he never got to sit this close to her or spend this much time with her. But he wasn't about to say that, so instead he said the first lie that sounded plausible.

"Because there isn't the threat of Voldemort now, and because," He paused for a moment, choosing each word carefully, "Well, we all weren't that close in school. You and Harry and Ginny to us, I mean." He searched her face to make sure he hadn't said anything too forward. To his relief, she nodded. He wanted her to go on, to continue the conversation. And she might have, but Harry finally moved his knight to a winning spot and yelled "Checkmate!" The entire room shushed him, falling into laughter. The ending of the game seemed to silently conclude the evening. Without a word the group moved towards the kitchen, hitching arms through coats and tugging on shoes. Ginny was the first to go, a drawn out hug with Hermione and she was off to Grimmauld Place, quickly followed by Harry.

"Well it was good seeing you Hermione!" George said, throwing her a cheeky wink, as he gathered a handful of floo powder for himself. She laughed, and took a step towards the door. Fred, filled with boldness fuelled by the feeling of her arm against his and the way she had met his eyes during their brief conversation, stepped towards her.

"It's dark. I'll walk you out past the wards if you're going to apparate." He said it as a statement, but about halfway through he lost some nerve so it sounded more like a question. She shook her head,

"I'm fine, Fred. Don't worry!"

"No worry at all, safety in numbers you know." He heard the soft chuckle of George behind him. "Seriously, Hermione, you shouldn't walk alone at night."

"I do it all the time, Fred." She said,

"Let the boy be a gentleman." George piped up. "It happens so rarely you've got to take advantage of it." She rolled her eyes, but relented. Really she was perfectly safe, Fred knew that. The walk wasn't even a quarter mile, but all the same, tonight had made him greedy. He wanted a few more moments with her, to soak up her presence. It would probably be at least another month before he saw her again. As he followed her out the door, he turned to George who was tossing the floo powder into the fire. George cracked a smile and mouthed "you're welcome" before calling out his destination and disappearing, leaving Hermione and Fred alone.

Author's Note: Sorry these keep being so short and so far apart...I'll try and update within a week.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP...although I wish I did.


	4. Part 3:

Part 3:

The dirt path, packed hard from years of foot traffic, twisted up the slight hill and to the left. The end of the wards was marked by a lopsided stone resting against the base of a fence post. The night air had a bitter chill to it, and Fred was regretting not bringing a coat. He felt the wind tear through his sweater easily, and kissing his flesh raw. He looked over to Hermione as he shut the door behind him, her coat was buttoned tight and her hands were buried in her pockets, but she didn't seem to mind the cold. A particularly strong gust of wind knocked her hair into her face. She looked over at him, as he walked along beside her.

"You must be freezing!" She said as if noticing his lack of coat for the first time. He was. But there was a different sort of warmness that glowed in his chest. This was the first time they had ever been alone together. Really alone, not with someone just in the next room or a brief wave as they passed each other in an empty section of the library. The world was sleeping, and here he was with her, feeling the heat of her next to him and matching her slow pace with each step.

"I love the cold." Was all he said, not wanting to lie but not wanting to give her a reason to send him back inside. She shook her head in disbelief. There was silence then, it held a level of uncomfortableness marked by the way Hermione twisted the top button on her coat.

"So," she said after a moment, "How's the shop?"

"Still standing." Fred said with a laugh, but he too was nervous. As wonderful as the idea had seemed in the moment he hadn't thought what to fill the silent minutes with. He resisted the urge to quicken his pace. Instead, in the soft light of the moon and the glow from the windows, he bent to pull up his sock, it had drooped down in his sock so that he felt his heel rub against the back of his shoe with every step. Normally he wouldn't have bothered but it gave him a moment to think of what to say. What could they talk about that wasn't about Ron? He glanced up at her before standing. She had paused, a step ahead of him, looking back. A faint smile lit her eyes, it was a different smile than ones he had seen before. Softer. The way someone smiles when they don't know they are being watched.

"All right?" She asked when he had righted himself. He nodded and set off again, realizing that they were nearly halfway to the rock. "So," she said, once again breaking the silence. Fred kicked himself internally. He was messing all of this up. "Any new inventions at this shop that is still standing?"

"Yes actually," He said, allowing the excitement he felt to color his voice. "George came up with the idea. Well really I came up with the idea, but it was back in third year as a prank he could pull on Ron, but that doesn't matter." He was speaking quickly, getting carried away as he always did when talking about new things for the shop. "Anyway, it's a similar spell to the one that's on chocolate frogs, except kind of opposite. Oh I'm explaining this all wrong." He said, running a hand through his hair. "See, the spell on chocolate frogs activates when the box is opened and makes them act and look like real frogs for a few moments. So if I can get it right, when you open the box it will look like a regular box of sweets, maybe toffee or cherry candy or something, but after a few moments they will turn back to what they really are which is slugs! But the problem is that I can't get the spell right. It either wears off too quick so that the person wouldn't even have time to get their hopes up before the slugs reappear, or it kills the slugs." Fred went on in great detail about the different types of transfiguration spells he had used, and all the ways in which he had failed. He didn't have any clue at what point they reached the end of the wards, or how long they stood face to face in the middle of the path. What eventually drew him from his excited talking was the smile on Hermione's face. She was grinning, wide and open mouthed in the darkness. He stopped speaking, looking around as if waking from a dream.

"I am so sorry." He began, embarrassment creeping up in him. "I get so wrapped up in my projects. You should have just told me to shut it." He rubbed the back of his neck self consciously. Hermione laughed, and he felt her breath against his face warm in the freezing air.

"Don't apologize. I loved it. Passion is so magnetic, you know? When you talk about your work I can't help but be excited with you." Fred laughed humorlessly, still not quite believing her. His nervousness was returning as he realized how close they were standing. "Besides, now that you've told me what's wrong, I might be able to help you fix it." He shook his head before she had even finished her sentence.

"I wouldn't ask you to do that. I know you aren't a fan of our, shall we say 'meaner,' products."

"Oh that was back in school Fred!" She said, "I was a prefect. I'm a grown adult now, I don't care what you sell to children. Besides, the fact that you are designing spells and potions is amazing." Fred had trouble focusing on anything she said after his name. He thrilled at the sound of it, the teasing tone. As if these late night walks happened all the time. As if they were the best of friends, as this was normal.

"Well," He said, after too long of a pause. "If you really wouldn't mind I would never turn down help from the smartest witch I know." Even in the darkness he saw the heat of a blush rise in her cheeks.

"Oh stop that nonsense." She said, pushing his arm gently. As if they were the best of friends, as this was normal. "I could stop by the shop one day after work? Or better idea," She said, tapping her middle finger and thumb together as she always did when thinking. "Why don't you send whatever work you've done on it to my office on Monday and I'll have a look. And then I'll send it back whenever I have a solution."

"Sounds like a plan." Fred said, already thinking of excuses for why he would need to drop it off in person instead of just sending it via owl. "I guess you should head home." She let out a sigh,

"I probably should. Besides, if you don't go soon I'll have to treat you for hypothermia."

"Hypo-what?" Fred asked, Hermione laughed again. He loved the sound, sharp against the silence of the winter darkness.

"Sorry. Muggle ailment. I was just saying that you must be very cold." In honesty, Fred hadn't even noticed the freezing air until she mentioned it. Being close to her took away all outside feelings but the way her hand at been so warm against his arm in the millisecond of contact.

"Well goodnight." He said, trying and failing to sound casual.

"Thank you for walking me." She said again, "As silly and unneeded as it was, it was fun. Next time I won't fight you on it." She threw one more parting smile at him before disapparating with a loud snap. Fred stayed where he was, alone then. He was cold, freezing actually, his fingers aching from the wind that bit at them. But he didn't dare disapparate until his mind was more focused. For a whole minute he allowed it to circle, lovingly and filled with hope, around the words _next time_.

Author's Note: I keep hoping for longer chapters, and they aren't happening, so I think I will just accept that this is the length they will be for now. Anyway, I do hope that your week is filled with love and community and support. Wherever you live, whatever you are facing, know that you are not alone, find your team. I promise they are out there.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I wish I did.


	5. Part 4:

Part 4:

George was perched on the edge of the couch, waiting. Fred apparated into the dark room and wobbled forward slightly. He hated apparation nearly as much as Hermione hated the floo network. George cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch with a satisfied grin.

"Bloody hell!" Fred said too loud for that time of night. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Well," George replied, the smile clearly evident in his voice, "I sat down thinking you would only be a few minutes, five tops." He chuckled waving his wand and the lights in the flat immediately sprung to life. "But no. Half an hour I've waited here like some spider. Now what were Hermione Granger and Fred Weasley doing alone in the dark for half an hour?" His grin brought a blush to Fred's cheeks.

"Nothing." He said, slumping into the chair across from his brother. "Well, talking about work, but that's all. And it hasn't been half of an hour. Twenty minutes at most." Fred didn't add that five of those minutes had been spent gaining enough composure to avoid splinching. George cocked an eyebrow.

"I back you up, wait in the dark for you and all you tell me is that you talked about work. Come on Freddie. Treat me better." Fred threw his head back in defeat.

"Fine. She offered to help us fix the Sluggard's Sweets idea."

"Really?" George said, leaning forward with interest. "Did she say how to fix it? I was hoping to get it on the shelves by Valentine's day." Fred shook his head, George wilting slightly at the motion.

"No, but I'm going to give her the journals on it on Monday. I'm sure she'll come up with something."

"Well besides having a business consultation, did anything happen? Did you profess your love? Have you set a wedding date?" Fred threw his left shoe, which he had been in the process of removing, at his brother. George dodged it easily enough by falling forward off the couch. The shoe slapped loudly against the wall, a tiny scuff mark remaining just shy of the lamp. George took that as his cue to leave, and stood rather gracelessly. "Alright, point taken. Goodnight, brother. Don't forget to get your love sick arse out of bed tomorrow, you're opening the shop." Fred groaned, tossing his remaining shoe in the general direction of George's bedroom door. But it bounced to a stop halfway there. "Goodnight!" George taunted in a sing song from the safety found behind his door.

Fred settled back into his chair, breathing deeply. This had all been too much for him, something out of a story. He shouldn't have ever offered to walk her. Because with their interaction it was as if something had changed in him. No longer was he sated with bi monthly dinners where he got to watch her from across a crowded room. He wanted to be close to her again, to feel the heat of her body near to his in the cold night. To watch his breath blow strands of hair against her cheek. He had been given a taste, and he felt alive.

The weekend past with the incredible slowness of the day before winter holidays began. It lurched forward at such a crawl that Fred wondered if George was setting the clocks back to mess with him. He buried himself with work, going through boxes of sales reports from the last year, figuring out which products would sell best around valentine's day so that they could stock enough of them. But all the same, the minutes ticked by like they were taunting him. The entirety of Sunday afternoon Fred spent organizing and reorganizing the display in the window. When George clicked the lock shut, dimming the lights with his wand, Fred looked up.

"Closing time?" He asked,

"Yeah," George replied, shaking his head. "Here, take these" he said, shoving cardboard box towards him. Fred glanced inside. There were three small leather notebooks, a stack of parchment, several vials of purple, blue, and dark brown goo and a small stack of their Sluggard's Sweets boxes. "For Hermione." George clarified.

"Why are these in here?" Fred asked, fishing out the largest of the vials. It was only as fat as his thumb but was longer than his palm. The cork was slightly dyed where it touched the opaque liquid that was about the consistency of honey, but colored a vibrant blue.

"Those are the earliest versions of the flavoring. Remember? When we thought of having the slugs taste like candy just in case someone was daft enough to bite into one."

"Yes," Fred said, he knew what they were, he just didn't know why they were in the box. "But we abandoned that a week after coming up with the idea in the first place. I don't think Hermione will need them." He began to pull them from the box, setting them on the shelf of extendable ears, but George picked it back up and tossed it down into the box.

"Trust me." He said, a sly grin pulling open his mouth. "Hermione really should have everything we've done with them. It's only fair." He paused for effect, "Plus. Those vials contain non-approved potion elements and therefore cannot be transferred via owl." The pieces clicked together in Fred's mind. George really was brilliant. "So?" George prompted.

"So that means, I'll have to take them to Hermione myself." Fred was smiling now too. Although he did feel stupid for not thinking up the plan on his own. He had spent the past 48 hours trying to find an excuse to visit Hermione.

"Exactly!" George confirmed. "Honestly, all the work I'm putting into getting you two together, I deserve some sort of away." Fred, too thrilled to be annoyed at George's words, stepped off the step stool he had been on. George really had done so much for him. Ever since he found out about Fred's crush he had been a constant buffer between Ron and Fred, never allowing the two to talk about anything but the weather and work, nothing that could lead to Hermione. And in those months, when Ron and Hermione held hands and kissed and Merlin knows what else, George had been there. There was one night, hazy in Fred's memory, colored by the foggy edges of firewhiskey. It was the day Ron had told Fred that he loved Hermione, and that she loved him back. George had found his twin in the bathroom, weeping, his face pressed against the tile of the shower. Fred remembered the way George sat there, no judgement, just settled to the floor next to him. But there was something else, as Fred's tears made bile rush from up his throat there were tears in George's eyes. Even months later, Fred remembered the pain in his brother's voice as he whispered "I'm so sorry Forge. I'm so sorry."

There in the near darkness of the empty shop, Fred was realizing how much George wanted him to be happy. How Fred's unrequited love hurt his brother in the same way that George's relationship with Angelina made Fred's heart warm with joy.

"I might love her." The words burst from Fred's lips and into the moment of silence like a cannon blast. George squinted in confusion. In all of the years, Fred had never openly admitted his feelings for Hermione. It was an unspoken truth between he and George, but Fred decided that he owed it to his brother to at least be honest with him. "I might love her, Hermione." He said, saying the words slower. "I know that's stupid, but I mean it." He watched his brother, waiting for a reaction of some kind. After a moment, George smiled, warm and open.

"I've known that for years, brother. But thanks for telling me." Fred smiled back, seeing the genuine gratitude written on his face. "Now, I'm starving. Angelina will be over in twenty minutes with take away so we should go clean up. You know how she is." Fred laughed, happy to return to normal. He tucked the cardboard box under his left arm. With his confession, there was a lightness in his chest. Maybe he loved her. It felt good to acknowledge it, to say it out loud, as if there was a chance it might be reciprocated. . The evening, he knew, would be slow and he wasn't going to sleep at all. But in the morning, he would see her. He would be close to her again, and that prospect alone made a blush rise to his cheeks as he followed George up that back stairs and into the flat.

Author's note: I don't like this part this much. But I don't know...let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: If you can't tell by the plot holes and terrible bits of writing...I'm not JK Rowling and I don't own HP.


	6. Part 5:

Part 5:

Fred had been wrong. There was no sleepless night, in fact, he had spent the rest of the evening so wound up in his mind around Hermione that by the time he crawled into his bed he fell asleep without question. In fact, by the time he awoke–bleary eyed, and stiff–the sun was already shining bright, obtrusive rays through the window. He rolled over, forgetting in those moments stuck halfway between sleep and waking, his task that day. It wasn't until his eyes fell to the cardboard box sitting on the tufted chair that he sat up with a start. He was going to see Hermione. He couldn't quite identify the feeling that rushed into him, it felt like cold water had replaced all the blood in his veins. With it, came fear and joy and something else, something sweet and deep. He dressed quickly, glad he had set out an outfit the night before. He walked straight out the front door, leaving the cardboard box in the chair. He returned to it, ten minutes later and carrying two brightly colored paper cups of steaming coffee from the café across the street. Careful not to spill the coffee, he tucked the lidded box under his arm and walked back out into the living room. George was asleep, arm thrown over his face, on the couch.

"Oi!" Fred called, kicking the emerald green cushion. "Up you go!" George grunted, but opened his eyes. He blinked for a moment, and then cracked a smile.

"Off to see Hermione are you?" He said, sitting up.

"Yeah, will you toss some floo powder into the fire for me? My hands are a little full."

"You woke me" he said, pausing for an exaggerated yawn "at Merlin knows what time it is, so that you wouldn't have to set down a precious coffee on the mantel for ten seconds?" Fred opened his mouth to respond but didn't get a sound out before George cut him off, rising to his feet. "And you didn't even bother to bring me any! Some brother you are!" He was struggling to make his fake annoyance any shade of believable, as his voice was still thick with sleep.

"I thought you might want to have a look at me before I left." Fred said, "And besides, if you don't want to be woken up, sleep in your own bed."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." George said, dipping his hand into the bowl of floo powder. "You know the couch is comfier than my mattress. And it stays darker in here so much longer than my room. All those windows." He shuddered, tossing the handful of powder into the fire. Fred laughed,

"You could always by curtains, you know."

"Curtains. Ha!" George said, flopping back down onto the sofa. "Tell Hermione I say hello, and don't go professing your love or any stupid shit like that!" He said, turning is face towards the back of the couch. Fred didn't respond. He only stepped into the fire and called, louder than necessary just to annoy George,

"The Ministry of Magic!" Just as his fire place began to whiz away he heard George yell

"Shut up!" and then he was gone, fireplaces dancing past at dizzying speeds until he stumbled out into the ministry, trying not to run into the back of the rather rotund wizard that had stepped out just before him.

Hermione's office was on the fourth floor. It lay at the end of a hallway with carpeting the color of blood, dark and brown. Fred followed behind a young witch, several years younger than Hermione, most likely fresh out of school. Her blonde hair was pinned up atop her head, he could see just the faintest shades of a soft brown at the roots. She had been on the elevator with him and, apparently they were headed to the same place. When the reached the large open room, lines of desk all filled with witches and wizards working steadily on paperwork of various forms, the woman turned to him.

"Can I help you find someone?" She asked, her eyes-an unsettling pale blue- watched him.

"Oh no, I'm here to see Hermione Granger." He said, taking a side step in the direction of her office.

"I can walk you there." She, he noticed the way her eyes raked up and down his form, almost hungrily. That wasn't how he looked at Hermione was it? He hoped not.

"I'm fine, I know the way." He said, but she followed after him.

"I'm walking this way too." She said with a laugh. "My name's Emberly." She gave him a soft smile. "This is my second week here."

"I'm Fred." He replied, coming to a stop outside of the door to Hermione's office.

"Are you" The girl began, but paused for a moment "Are you Ms. Granger's boyfriend?" A blush colored her cheeks at the statement, and Fred felt his own face heating.

"No." He said "Just friends." Her eyes seemed to sparkle.

"Oh well, um." She giggled again. Fred really distrusted people who giggled, it seemed so disingenuous. "If you ever want to get lunch or something," She never got to finish the sentence. The door to Hermione's office opened, and there she stood.

"I thought I heard voices." She said, looking at Emberly. "Oh Fred!" She exclaimed when he caught her eye. "I wasn't expecting you. Come in!" And with that, Emberly was left on the other side of the closed door. Fred sighed.

"Thank you." He breathed, handing over the blue cup to Hermione.

"For what?" She asked, moving around to sit on the edge of her desk.

"For saving me from," He paused searching his memory for the blonde girl's name.

"Emberly?" Hermione asked, blowing a bit of steam away from the lip of her cup.

"Yes! Emberly. She was," he suddenly wished he hadn't brought it up, but now he had to finish the sentence. "At least I think she was in the process of asking me on a date." He let out a tight, nervous laugh. "And I hate telling people no." Hermione smiled, not a real smile, she too must have felt uncomfortable.

"Emberly's far too young for you." She said, "Besides, she never shuts that mouth of hers. If she was my secretary instead of Nicoloi's I would have fired her by now. But that man loves anything young with legs." She shook her head, "Thank you for the coffee."

"It's the least I could do for the woman who agreed to save our business." She laughed, for real this time.

"Oh come on Fred, one faulty product isn't going to drown your shop. People love it. You could have just sent it by post you know?" She said, gesturing towards the box. "Although I will never turn down a good cup of coffee. You can bring me folders full of faulty ideas every day if it means you bring coffee with you that isn't from the horrible place down the street."

"I might just take you up on that." Fred said with a smile, leaning forward so his arms rested on the chair across from her. He was sure she assumed he meant on bringing her the faulty ideas, but he could care less on her problem solving ability. He would bring her empty notebooks if it meant a few moments every day spent with her. But he knew that would never do.

"I couldn't send them because of these." He said pulling out a few of the vials. "They aren't really needed but George said you should have everything, just in case." He left out the part where it required him to visit her and thus was the only reason George included the items. She was already engrossed in the set of journals he gave her, but she did nod to acknowledge she had heard. And after a moment she answered,

"Well yes, it is always better to have everything just in case." She pulled herself from the pages, eyes a little out of focus. "Honestly, just from glancing at it this is incredible and very advanced stuff." Fred couldn't feel embarrassed at her words because he was to enwrapped in the way she flipped through the pages. He imagined this is what she had meant that Friday night when he talked about his work. Watching her get lost in problem solving for a few minutes, was like watching a work of art. After a minute she pulled back again and shut the book with a sheepish grin. "I'll have to wait until home until I look at these, I love problems like this. I wouldn't get any work done all day." It was as if with the mention of work she felt the invisible pull of all that lay undone behind her on the desk. She let out a deep sigh, "Speaking of work."

Fred, as much as he wished he didn't, knew that was his cue to leave.

"I'll let you get back to it." He said, wishing they could have had just a moment or two of conversation. She nodded, lifting the partially empty cup of coffee towards him

"Thank you again for the coffee. I will repay the favor." She promised. "And I'll drop this by the shop once I'm finished that way you can have the vials back."

"Oh, I can come and get it!" Fred said, his hand resting on the doorknob. He hadn't meant to inconvenience her.

"No trouble." She assured, "besides, I haven't been to the shop in ages. I'd love to see it."

"Well alright then!" He said with a smile. "Have a great day, 'Mione." She smiled again at him and right as he was closing the door behind him he heard her say

"You too Fred." And just like the last time, his heart leapt at the sound of his name from her lips. He was so in a daze, he didn't even notice the poor, too young for him Emberly watching with freshly painted lips from her desk.


	7. Part 6:

Part 6:

In the days that came after their brief interaction at the ministry, work began to take up some of that space in Fred's mind that Hermione usually occupied. Specifically, the shop's total and complete lack of organization. In the rush of mid-February when children still had Christmas money to spend and had grown bored of anything they had already received, the store was packed. Although Verity, George, and he worked tirelessly they needed more help. Last year, they had toyed with the idea of hiring a few seventeen year olds, just to help keep things running. But it had never became anything, as George had shot down every one that applied. In truth, Fred thought that his brother didn't like the idea of having someone else around. It had taken his brother several years to become used to even Verity. Now though, the blonde witch had become an integral part of the team. It had been Verity's idea to hire a few new shop assistants. On days when Fred and George would get wrapped up in a project, it left her alone to handle the entire shop. It was quite a lot for one person, even if she was as quick and feisty as Verity. Fred was determined that this year they would find someone. But George still refused.

It was late on the Wednesday of the second week since Fred had given Hermione the Sluggard's Sweets box. The day had been particularly busy, as a group of about fifty maybe more, children no older than nine or ten had spent the better part of the afternoon roaming the shop and knocking over displays. After ushering the last of them, rosy cheeked and giggling, through the front doors and out into the quickly darkening street George flipped the paper sign to read "CLOSED." Verity sighed, leaning forward on her elbows. Fred was righting a toppled display case with his wand, and cursed as a small packet of instant darkness powder smacked him on the chin as it flew up to its rightful place. Verity let out a laugh.

"I hate kids." She said, as she pulled half eaten piece of Fever Fudge from where it lay trampled into the floor. "I'm never having any." George chuckled, as he glanced over the sales receipts for the day.

"Well good thing you picked a profession filled with them, Ver." Fred yelled from the other end of the shop. Verity curled her lip.

"Maybe I wouldn't hate them so much if didn't have to touch everything, or shout so much." George shook his head,

"Well all those fingers and voices make us lots of money." He retorted. Verity shut her mouth, and grunted.

"Why don't you head on out." Fred said, pointing to the door. "We can finish stocking in the morning. Besides, Thursdays are never that busy before lunch." George agreed, pushing through the curtain to the back room to grab his coat. Verity nodded,

"See you tomorrow, boss man." She called to Fred. Waving her wand to lock the door behind her. Fred sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes.

"How that girl manages all this is beyond me." He said to George when he returned to the main floor carrying Fred's jacket. George expertly avoided Fred's attempt to bring up hiring another employee and instead said,

"Angelina wants to go out for dinner. I think it's going to be Italian food if you want to come?" Fred just shook his head, as much as he enjoyed being with them, he hated feeling like he was imposing on their time together. George was slipping his arms into his coat and wrapping the speckled scarf around his neck.

"Your choice." He said, "But know you're always welcome. I'll make sure to bring back some leftovers." Fred laughed,

"Sure you will." He said. George unlocked the front door, and walked out onto the street, locking it behind him as Verity had done. Fred stood alone in the shop. It was early still, they had gotten in the habit of closing late when it was out of season, getting as many paying customers in as possible. But on days like this, when the walls were packed from opening on, they shut the doors right at six o'clock. The sun had nearly finished her early descent, and the place seemed all the bigger in the near darkness. Fred stayed there for quite some time, he was quite sure how long, just listening to the soft tick of the clock above the register and the way his breath seemed to make so much noise. As they always did in those quiet moments, his mind landed gently on Hermione. But he pushed it away, she would come when she came and that was all there was to it. As much as he loved being around her, he refused to rush or force or push.

Eventually he made his way out through the workshop and pushed open the backdoor. A glass bottle lay in the alleyway, right at the base of the staircase that led up to the flat. He kicked it softly and it rattled down towards the dumpsters. Fred's stomach growled audibly. There were still several different boxes of take-away in the refrigerator, and if George remembered to bring him back something there would be even more tomorrow.

When he made it through the door, Fred kicked off his shoes haphazardly. Pulling the sweater over his head so he was wearing only the dark t-shirt under it, he flipped on the radio as he walked past. Quick and complex piano music flowed around him as he shuffled through the various containers of food. He settled on rice with a yellow sauce and chunks of meat. It was something George had picked out. He blew on the steaming bowl before tentatively taking a bite, it was sweeter than he expected, but it wasn't too bad. The music softened as the next song began, this one was slower, more deliberate. Fred took another bite of food and stood. Swaying slightly to the melody of the piece, he grabbed a glass from cupboard above the sink, and filled it with a bit of firewhiskey. Swirling the amber liquid around the class, he cherished the way the smell burned against his nose.

A knock on the front door, sharp but hesitant, pulled him from his admiration of the drink. He left the glass on the counter, and ran a hand through his hair as he moved towards the front door. It wasn't late, but they very rarely got visitors in the flat. He opened the door, expecting to see a neighbor who had been locked out, or a child who was angry that the shop had closed a little earlier today. But when the door swung towards him, he was shocked. Hermione, dressed in her neatly buttoned work clothes, was at his doorstep.

Author's note: Hello there friends. Thank you so much for your kind reviews, I really do appreciate them. I've been considering writing a chapter or two from Hermione's prospective, any thoughts on that?

Disclaimer: I might live in the same city as JK Rowling, but I am not her, and I don't own Harry Potter.


	8. Part 7:

Part 7:

Fred stood in the doorway for three long breaths, just looking at Hermione. She was dressed in black, the shiny buttons on her coat reflecting on the light streaming from the open door. This was the first time she had been at his door. Of course she had been in the shop before, but he had never invited her upstairs. She was staring back at him, clearly uncomfortable. He should say something, but his tongue felt numb. When he opened his mouth to invite her in, the only word that tumbled out was "Hermione" a whisper shaped like a question.

"I hope I'm not intruding" she said, shifting from one from one foot to another nervously, and lifting the cardboard box that he had given her as if to prove the validity of her visit. "I thought the shop would still be open, but when I stopped by it was all locked up." At the sound of her voice, and how filled with anxiety it was, Fred was jolted from his staring. She probably thought that he didn't want her here! He was practically barring her from the apartment, after all. He smiled as wide as he could, stepping away to usher her into the flat.

"Of course you're not intruding." He said, shutting the door behind her, breathing in and out slowly in a weak attempt to calm his racing heart before turning to face her. She stood still, eyes moving to take in the low lit room. He suddenly felt self conscious, not only of what he was wearing but also in the emptiness of the flat. It did not feel warm or inviting like the Burrow. In the moment of silence that followed, as Hermione surveyed his home, the radio could clearly be heard from the kitchen. She tilted her head, and a smile crept onto her face.

"I love this song." She said, moving towards the doorway. She nearly tripped over one of his shoes lying in the middle of the room. He cursed himself for not putting them away neatly. Fred followed behind, sweeping the partially eaten take-away off the table and putting it back in the fridge. "Did I interrupt your dinner?" She said, sounding worried again. Fred smiled, he felt more at ease now that the music was surrounding him, filling those seconds of silence so that they did not choke the air from his lungs.

"No worries, 'Mione." He said, "Would you like something to drink? I have tea, wine, whiskey?" He said, motioning to the firewhiskey bottle on the counter. She shook her head, but then seemed to change her mind,

"Tea would be lovely." She decided. Perhaps it was just the pale light of the small kitchen, but Fred could have sworn she was blushing slightly. He motioned for her to sit, and she pulled out one of the wobbly white chairs, placing the box on the table.

"So." He said, his back to her as he fetched the only clean tea cup in the place, "were you able to figure out our problem?" She sighed, and he heard her shift in the chair.

"Well, not really. I mean, I can give you a few spells that lasted longer. But nothing that will give the affect I think you're looking for. I did write down a few ideas in the notebooks in there, but honestly they won't do you much good." When he placed the cup in front of her, the dark amber liquid steaming, she seemed to relax a little more. Fred settled down across from her, trying to appear at ease, although his heart was still pounding out an uneven rhythm.

"That's allright. It was wonderful of you just to try. You're so busy as is." He pulled the box across the table to him, rifling through the contents just to busy his hands.

"Oh not really." Hermione said, pausing to sip her tea. "Sure during work hours I have plenty. But most days I go back to my flat and have the whole evening to myself." The song ended and another began, this one more jazzy and upbeat. Fred shook his head.

"Hermione Granger. Are you telling me that you don't go out? Come on a witch like you doesn't go dining and dancing all over the city?" Hermione blushed, brighter this time.

"If I did go out, I wouldn't have time to do this for you! Plus it's not like the suitors are knocking down my door." She said with a laugh, gesturing towards the box. He felt a uncomfortable at even the thought of other men winning Hermione's affection.

"Really though," He cleared his throat "thank you for trying. I guess I'll just stick these on a shelf in the workroom and come back to them some other time." He said as he pulled the sweets boxes out. The two were quiet again, Hermione twisting one of the buttons on her coat, and Fred watching her. The music filled the space, upbeat and begging to be danced to.

"So, where is George tonight?" Hermione asked, sipping from her tea again. Fred noticed that she was nearly finished, and he knew that once she the cup was empty she would leave.

"He's on a date." He said, "with Angelina" he clarified as if she didn't know who George was dating. She nodded,

"Oh okay." She swirled the tea around before looking back up at him, her eyes glinting playfully. "You judged on me for not going out, and yet here you sit Fred Weasley." She said, and his stomach flipped. "Eating leftovers in your kitchen alone."

"Well now I have you." He said without thinking. She only smiled. She drained the last of her tea, and just as he feared she let out the sigh that always accompanies a farewell.

"I guess I should be going." She said, rising from the chair. I didn't mean to stay even this long. I actually do have work to do tonight." Fred stood with her, taking the cup from her hands and placing it in the sink. As he did so, their fingers made contact for the briefest moment. Hers were still warm from being wrapped around the hot cup. Fred's mind raced, searching for any reason to make her stay. She seemed not to notice his hesitation. "I am disappointed" she continued on, buttoning her coat in preparation for the cold night air. "I really thought the shop would be open, I haven't been in a while and I wanted to see it." She had a wistful tone to her voice, as if Fred's joke shop had become a source of nostalgia to her.

"Well." He said almost too quickly. "Lucky for you, you know the owner. I can take you in. Besides, I need to put all this stuff down in the workshop." He said gesturing towards the box Hermione had brought. She thought for a moment, before nodding.

"A few minutes wouldn't hurt." Fred did his best to suppress his smile, pulling the sweater on over his head as he opened the door. The air was colder than he had expected, and bit at his face. Hermione followed him down the stairs. He opened the workshop door with a whisper and a flick of his wand. He held it open for Hermione,

"After you, my lady." He said, with a mock bow. She laughed, loud and beautiful in the open air. As she walked past him into the dark workshop, she brushed her fingers against his arm in thanks. Fred swallowed hard, trying not to let a blush color his cheeks. Instead he followed her inside, closing the door behind them and flipping on the light.

Author's Note: Sorry for the bit of a cliff hanger in the last part, I honestly meant to get this one out the next day...Oh well. Here is a hopefully not empty promise to get the next bit out by the end of the week.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, obviously.


	9. Part 8:

Part 8:

The workshop, cramped and filled with books, looked yellow in the pale light of the naked bulbs hanging from the low ceiling. In the daytime, the two large windows that opened up the alley they had just entered from filled with room more than enough light. Hermione spun in a slow circle, careful not to bump against one of the workbenches. The room was little more than a large closet, and with the large bookshelf on the back wall and the cabinets to the left, the space felt too intimate, as if they were breathing in each other's air. When she had finished spinning, she turned back to Fred. He stood with his back pressed against the door, not wanting to be too close to her. She looked at him for a moment, her eyes seeming to trace his face.

"So this is where the magic happens?" She said, gesturing to the space. Fred laughed nervously, moving to her side so he could place the box on an empty shelf, if he extended his hand just a little it would touch hers. He banished the thought, ashamed. He wasn't a schoolboy anymore.

"Magic might be a bit of a stretch lately. But that's the idea." She chuckled, running her hand along the spines of a few of the textbooks that they kept for reference.

"You use these?" She said with a smile. "I never saw you read them once during school." Perhaps it was the few nips of firewhiskey he had drank before her arrival, or the veil of night around them, or maybe it was just because her proximity made him brave. Whatever the reason, when he opened his mouth, he heard the type of words he normally kept in his head rush free into the open air.

"Come now, 'Mione. There's a lot about me and my Hogwarts days you don't know." It was pure flirtation, there was no way around that. He might as well have winked! He waited, not daring to continue, for her to back away. But she, as was becoming habit, surprised him. She smiled.

"Oh, really?" She shot back. He was thrilled. He was sure that she wasn't flirting back, but she was playing along, and that was progress. "Like what?"

"For one," Fred said, pushing past her and out through the curtain. He brought the lights of the shop on just enough so they could see, but not enough that anyone walking past might assume they were open and go banging on the door. "I was the one who made George try out for quidditch with me. And I made the highest marks in my year for potions every up until seventh year." She rolled her eyes, turning to look at the display of extendable ears next to her.

"I knew both of those things already." She said.

"Like hell you did." Fred said, again doing his best to stay a respectable distance from her. He wanted to touch her, to feel the warm skin of her cheek under his fingers. His fingers twitched at the thought.

"Really!" She said with a huff, turning back to him. "It's not like I was totally oblivious to everything you did that wasn't breaking a rule." Fred struggled with her words. He never even thought that Hermione might have noticed him during school. In his mind, she thought of him only as a trouble maker. Only as a rule breaker to watch in the common room for fear he might poison a first year. Nothing more. Even the days and weeks and nights spent under the same small roof as him. How could he be anything more than the brother of the boy who broke her heart. The idea that perhaps she noticed him, knew him even, sent him into wordless wonder. She shook her head,

"Come on. I spent a whole summer at your house. You learn a lot about someone when you live with them" She said. He did know that. Over that summer his feelings for her had deepened so that he could barely stand to be alone with her for fear of ruining the years of cautious friendship he had built. She seemed to be unaware of how mad he was going. "I know that you don't like drinking milk, and that you–at least then–didn't know how to do your own laundry, and that you read any books about quidditch you can get your hands on. Oh! And I know that you snore." She fell silent, mouth slightly open as if she couldn't believe what she said. "Sorry. That probably sounded like I stalked you." She whispered. Fred was staring at her, mind overwhelmed. She began to twist the button on her coat again.

"How did you know I snore?" Fred said suddenly. Of all the questions in his mind, that seemed the one that might ease the tension that had suddenly filled the empty shop. She didn't meet his eyes for a long moment. He wondered if here, in the silence of the darkened shop, if she could hear the unruly rhythm his heart was beating.

"Remember." She said, looking up to him, her cheeks were slightly pink. "You all would play quidditch and you'd always end up napping on the couch afterwards. Ginny and I were in there one day and I heard you snoring."

"That was years ago!" Fred said in amazement. A thought was beginning to poke at the corner of his mind, intrusive and wonderful but he refused to let it in. What if? His heart began to pound out the rhythm. What if? What if? What if? She was moving again, Walking towards the open area where Verity had peeled the fudge from the floor. None of this seemed real, the whole evening. It had the shiny edged quality of a dream. Fred pinched the skin on his left hand. He was awake.

"I paid attention." She finally said. Her back was too him, watching out the front window as a mother pulled a small child, dressed in a blue jumper, along beside her. The space was no longer playful, Fred did not feel like winking or laughing. The air seemed charged, and heavy. What if? What if? What if? He felt as if he could not breathe. The word slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

"Why?" It came out like a whisper. But the room was so quiet that he was sure she heard how fragile it was. It was seven years of "what ifs" wrapped in a single syllable. He wished he could take it back, to suck all the air from the room so that the word might never make it to her ears. Things had tumbled out of control, he hadn't meant for this to happen. Not tonight. He watched her, as she stood completely still. He wanted her to turn and look at him, just so he could see her face, to see if she was disgusted by all that the three letters implied. But she stayed looking out into the early evening, hand paused mid twist of the middle coat button. He breathed, trying to slow that panic that was bubbling inside of him.

"You…" She trailed off, falling again into silence. He wanted to run from the room. To sink beneath the floor, to bury himself in wet earth. Anything so that he did not have to hear whatever she was going to say, her tone was enough. He was suddenly glad that he did not have to look her in the eyes. She began again. "I don't…" And once again could not make it past the first few heard the slow intake of her breath, shaky and wavering. He couldn't bear it anymore.

"Forget I asked." He said, short and sharp in the emotion that had filled the space. "It was stupid." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. She did not move, did not speak. Suddenly he felt his own emotion winning, dark and heavy. His eyes burned, and his breath caught in his throat. Not here. Not in front of her. He would not cry. He had ruined everything already. He backed towards the curtain, "Listen." He said, ashamed of how small and strained his voice sounded. "I should probably go. I need to get some work done before George gets back and spends the rest of the evening telling me every detail of the pasta he ate with Angelina." He let out a humourless laugh. "You can stay as long as you want. I'll lock the door behind me so you can just disapparate." He did not stay for her answer, did not wait to see if she would turn to watch him go. He heard the loud pop of her disapparation before he had finished locking the door.

The night air was cold, and the wind blew a strand of hair into his eyes. He tried his best to make it into the flat. But he couldn't. Halfway up the stairs he stopped, one loud sob escaping out of his tightly pressed lips. How stupid he had been. Sinking to the cold wood of the step, he crouched there, hand wrapped tightly around the banister to keep his balance. There were no other tears, just hollow breathing. He should have let her leave. He shouldn't have been so childish, poking her for information about her feelings. He did not know how long he stayed like that, hands shaking, eyes closed. He did not hear George's return, or the panicked questions that his brother shot at him, gauging the situation. He did not even know that he how responded. He felt his mouth form around words, but there seemed to be no sound. He knew only the way his throat felt raw, and the sound of her disapparation, over and over and over again.

Author's Note: Hey friends. I tried to make this a little longer to make up for the shortness of the last two. Anyway, here you go. I love hearing your feedback, thank you to all that have reviewed and messaged me. Y'all are the real heros

Disclaimer: I used to own a small pottery wheel as a child. But I never learned to use it. And thus, I do not own Harry Potter.


	10. Part 9:

Part 9:

Fred awoke to the slam of the front door. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. The room was too warm for his liking, the windows clouded over with condensation, as the hot air rising from the radiator met the cold air on the other side of the window. For the briefest moment, as he sat watching the way the mid morning sunlight reflecting off the tiny droplets of water collected against the glass, he did not remember what had happened the night before. When the memory came crashing back, as memories must, he stopped breathing. Hermione. Her name sent a shiver of shame and pain down his spine. He was knocked from his stunned state as his bedroom door pushed walked in, still wearing his scarf and coat, without bothering to knock.

"Good. You're up." He said, tossing a paper bag at Fred before sinking into the chair beside his bed. Fred blinked, focusing on the item in his lap. The bag was white, and coated in wax to protect against the elements. It fit in his hands, and even before opening he could smell that it held food. Securing the bag shut was a tiny piece of red tape the size of his thumb nail. Fred peeled the tape back, glancing down into the bag. It was a croissant, most likely chocolate filled by the hints of dark brown escaping around the edges.

"Thanks." He said, reaching for his wand to cast a cooling spell on the room.

"So," George said, kicking off his boots and resting his socked feet on the edge of Fred's bed. "Talk." Fred took a large bite of the croissant, feeling the chocolate, still warm, sweet against his tongue, and pointed to his mouth. "Oh shut it." George said, "I didn't buy you breakfast just so you could use it as an excuse." He waited until Fred swallowed and then continued. "Seriously. What happened." Fred frowned, no longer hungry as he saw the worry in George's face.

"Nothing" He said too quickly, and when George responded only by rolling his eyes Fred sighed. "Nothing you need to worry about. It's fine. I promise." George placed his feet back on the floor and leaned forward so his elbows rested against his knees.

"Bullshit." He said, "I don't care what your definition of 'fine' is, but there is no way it includes what happened last night." Fred didn't respond, instead he picked the golden top layer of the pastry away bit by bit. George leaned over and pulled it from his hand. "Stop." He said. Fred met his eyes, the worry had increased, was sapping all of the sparkle and joy that was usually so present in his brother. "You terrified me." George confessed.

"I'm sorry." Fred mumbled. "I don't know what came over me."

"Yeah," George said, leaning back in his chair. "I come home at nine or so, to see you hunched over and shaking. I thought you were dying. And you wouldn't move or talk. All I could get out of you was her name. Over and over again. I had no clue what to do. I almost fetched Mum." A new feeling was filling Fred, guilt. How easy it was to forget how his actions and emotions affected those around him, especially George. Fred ran a hand through his hair.

"I screwed up." He said. "I ruined everything."

"What happened?" George asked again, this time softer.

"She came to the flat to drop off the Sluggard's Sweets stuff." Fred murmured, more to himself now than to his twin. "And she wanted to see the shop. And" He was quiet for a moment, unsure of even how to put what happened into words. "And I convinced myself that maybe she…it was so stupid." He fell back so he was lying down again. "I don't know why I did it, but I basically asked her how she felt about me."

"You came right out and asked?" George interrupted, shocked.

"Well no, it sort of just fit into the conversation. I can't really explain, it was so strange. It felt...I was so sure, that she was trying to tell me that maybe she…" He couldn't finish the sentence, even the thought of it sent physical pain through his torso. "But she didn't. She didn't even answer. Just stood there." He stopped then, staring up at the speckled ceiling. Had there always been that hole there? It was just to the left of the door, no bigger than a sickle, ragged at the edges. George sighed,

"I'm sorry." He said after a long moment. "But, there is always hope Freddie." He said. Now it was Fred's turn to roll his eyes. "I mean it." George said. "For one, maybe you were wrong. Maybe she was just shocked."

"No." Fred said, shaking his head. "It was more than that. She sounded so, so sad. Like I had just destroyed our entire friendship in that one moment."

"Alright. So maybe it was a 'no.' But a 'no' right now does not mean forever. And I'm not saying that you need to stick around and wait, but if that is what you want to do, maybe she just needs time." George shifted his chair closer, so he could rest a hand on Fred's shoulder. "And what if it really was a no?" George said quietly. "At least now you know. And we can move on from here." There was silence again, long and heavy. Finally, Fred spoke.

"I think part of me knew." He said.

"Huh?" Was all George said, being pulled from his own thoughts.

"I think part of me knew," Fred repeated. "That my asking wouldn't end well. It was like had lasted as long as I could bare. And she was right there, and there was no one else around. It was as if the whole world stopped existing. And even though deep down, I knew she couldn't care for me the way I do her, I still had to ask. Like touching a fire, if you stare at the flames long enough eventually, whether you mean to or not, you'll reach out and touch them."

"What do you mean that you knew she couldn't care for you?" George asked,

"I just mean that I have loved her for years, so many years. I would have noticed if she felt anything similar towards me. Yesterday was the first time that I thought maybe she did. But it wasn't real. I think I wanted it so bad, that I convinced myself she felt it. You know?"

"Maybe." Was all George said. He then stood up, handing Fred back the now room temperature croissant and moving towards the door.. "And maybe not. Remember what I said before? If all of the shit we've seen in life has taught us anything, it's that hope can change things, hope can bring walls to the ground." George ignored Fred's eye roll. "Maybe not on it's own. But it's the first step, and the hardest."

Author's Note: Hey friends. I might not get the chance to update for the next week or so. My days are becoming filled with all the boring tasks of life, and the minutes seem to be moving faster. I'll try my best to find a free couple of hours to write, but no promises. Anyway, just a heads up, I am 90% sure I'll be writing the next part from Hermione's perspective. If you think that's a terrible idea or have other feelings/suggestions about it feel free to send me a message. Even if I don't have time to write I will respond to your messages, I promise.

Disclaimer: Does anyone on here actually think I might own Harry Potter? Because I most certainly don't.


	11. Part 10:

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for your patience. I have spent the last week and half wrapped up in visits from friends, which is a wonderful thing after moving to a whole new city. I started this part as being from Hermione's perspective. But it just wasn't going to happen. I will spare you the horror of those first drafts...But as I have it right now, the next part will be from Hermione's perspective. Thank you to everyone who has messaged me with ideas about Hermione's parts and to those who have commented. You make my heart happy.

Part 10:

Fred did not want to go to dinner. The letter had come on Monday, and since then his heart had been weighty and twisting in his chest. George had been sleeping when the owl tapped anxiously at the kitchen window. After a few minutes, he relented. Standing slowly, he walked into the kitchen and past Fred, who was absentmindedly stirring a cup of long cold tea, and retrieved the small envelope from the creature before it broke in. After scanning it, he dropped it on Fred's lap, who looked up with a start.

"Arse." George had said, only half joking. He yawned and flopped back onto the couch. Fred looked at the small note, shocked. He hadn't heard the owl at all. Shaking his head as if to clear the last of his thoughts, he peeled back the already broken seal. It was written in his mother's long and swooping script. A dinner invitation. Well, invitation was slightly too kind of a word, summons perhaps? It had been over a month since their last visit. At the thought of that night, Hermione's face flashed before his eyes and he quickly shoved the thought away. No. It had only been the past few days that he had felt anything like himself, and whenever he thought of _her_ , the looming darkness got a little closer. He let out an audible sigh, and George, who he had assumed had gone right back to sleep yelled to him

"We have to go." Fred didn't bother going into the living room. Instead, he tossed the letter into the nearby bin and went back to stirring his tea.

"Maybe you do." Was all he responded.

"It's Mum and Dad's anniversary. We can't skip it." George yelled back, sounding slightly more alert. Fred didn't respond, and after a moment he heard the couch let out an aged sigh as George stood up. He appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"We have to go." He repeated. Fred shook his head,

"It's not a birthday. Besides, anniversaries are only for the people married. Can't they just go out for dinner and have sex like everyone else." George laughed and made a fake gagging sound.

"That's disgusting, Fred." Fred cracked a smile, which was progress. George frowned again. "Listen. I know you don't want to go, but you have to." This time, his voice held none of the compassion and worry it did in those first days after the incident with Hermione. That had worn off around the one week mark.

"What if," Fred didn't finish the sentence, not quite sure what he was more afraid of. Her being at dinner, or her not showing up. George shrugged,

"Then you do what you've done since we were kids and you first got all moon eyed over her, you suck it up. It's one night, and then you can go back to blowing off work and moping." He smiled, and there was a touch of softness in his tone when he said "I'll be there. It'll be fine." Fred had only groaned, and swallowed the room temperature tea in two gulps.

Since then, Fred had dreaded the night. He hadn't slept well, not that he had been getting a nice nine hours before his mother's letter, but it had gotten even worse. When the day finally arrived, Fred's palms were sweaty. As he stood near the fireplace, waiting for George to finish combing his hair, he could hear the swarms of children down in the shop below.

"You know," He called, in vain. "There were a lot of people down there. Maybe we shouldn't leave Verity. I know Mum would understand if–" He did not get to finish. George came out of his bedroom, a half hearted grin on his face.

"As much as I'd love to let you get out of this. You can't." He reached over and brushed a tiny piece of dust from Fred's sweater. "Besides, you can't shut yourself away. It isn't healthy. I'm worried." George tried to keep his voice light, but Fred could hear all the unsaid things behind it. He had been trying, for the past four or five days he had worked and ate multiple meals. But it had been different, whenever he had a moment to think, especially when he was in the shop, he would watch the scene play over and over and over again. Rolling his shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension in his body, it felt like a tightly coiled rubber band ready to snap, he sighed.

"Do you think she'll be there?" It was the first time he had asked. George shrugged, throwing a handful of floo powder into the fire.

"I don't know." He said, "Ron'll probably be there. You go first." He said, gesturing towards the green flames. Fred sighed again, knowing it was useless to argue.

"If she's there…" He began, George nodded,

"I won't leave your side. I promise." Fred's breath shuddered, he wasn't sure if he could handle this.

"The Burrow!" He called as he stepped into the fire. For the briefest second, as he saw George's face swirl away, engulfed by green and smoke, he hated him. Just for a moment, he hated that George couldn't save him from this. That he was forcing him towards the potential of more heartbreak. And as the Burrow began to come into view, he felt the darkness that had nearly swallowed him that first night, brush against his neck. No, he wasn't sure if he could handle this at all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter


	12. Part 11:

Author's Note: Okay friends, so this is from Hermione's perspective...as promised. I really don't know how I feel about this. Let me know your thoughts. And, as always, I adore you all.

Part 11:

Hermione was in the middle of her living room. Well, really she was pacing from kitchen, to living room, to front door, to bedroom, back to kitchen, and so on. The flat was warm, made warmer still by the heavy coat she had put on over half an hour before. Her neck was damp with sweat, and her breath was slightly ragged as if she had just walked up hill. She wasn't sure if that was from the heat or the nerves, probably both. The invitation from Molly was clutched in her left hand, and her wand in her right. She was going to be late. Really, she was already late. But if she didn't leave soon she would be _noticeably_ late, not just fashionably late. The kind of late that people question. The kind of late _he_ might question. And the last thing she needed was him to ask her any more questions.

She let out a heavy sigh, tossing the letter and her wand onto the small table near the front door. She wasn't going to go. It was decided, going would only cause trouble. For months and months she had carefully timed her appearance at Weasley family dinners so that she wouldn't have to see Ron. Things had been complicated enough when it was just him and his glances stuck halfway between anger and longing, now there was Fred. Fred. His name sent a shock through her, sharp and quick like a bee sting. Her fingers, already busy undoing the buttons on her coat, paused. Fred, she found her lips forming the name without sound, tasting it. It had been two weeks since that night in the shop. Even thinking about it, her stomach knotted itself tighter around her spine.

The day after, the word "why" still echoing in her ears, she had skipped work. Hermione never missed work, not on her birthday or when she was sick, not even the day after she and Ron broke up. But on that day she did. She had stayed in bed, breath shallow, until the afternoon sun and her growling stomach forced her up. Her mind was circling over and over, replaying the entire evening. It was as if she had missed some crucial detail, some key, and if she only remembered it then all of the emotions she seemed to be drowning under would sort themselves out. There was guilt, over how silent she had been in those last moments, and there was fear, and a tiny amount of flattery. But most of all there was just confusion. It was Fred! Fred. Never had she imagined that he could think of her as anything more than a younger sister. Part of her thought that she had imagined the whole experience, that he really had been being only friendly; that the "why" held no significance beyond casual curiosity. But then she would replay the conversation, focusing in on the way that he looked at her, and she couldn't ignore it. There had been _something_. Whenever she thought of this, her heart would flutter slightly, and her cheeks would warm. Even after that first day, in the following weeks, she had often found herself caught up in the thought, _what if?_ What if he really did hold some secret torch for her? Some moments when she thought of it, she was happy and nervous and all of those silly schoolgirl emotions she hadn't felt in so long. Most of the time, though, it only filled her with worry. Even if he cared for her, it could bring nothing good. She had decided, rather childishly, to avoid him as long as possible. Eventually, she knew, she would have to be in a room with him, to feel the heat of his body next to her, to hear his voice, but she would put it off. Maybe it had just been a fluke, a singular moment of _something_ that was gone as soon as he had left her. Maybe it had been nothing.

Hermione blinked rapidly, drawing herself out of her thoughts and back to reality, her fingers still caught in the middle of unbuttoning her coat. She sighed, and Crookshanks, who had been watching her pacing from his perch on the coffee table, wove in between her legs.

"I know." She said, as he meowed loudly at her, she pushed him away lightly with her foot. "I have to go. It's for Molly and Arthur. I have to." She repeated the phrase several times, taking several deep breaths. It would be fine. It would all be fine. They would be in a crowded room, and Ginny would be there. She would leave early. She would not talk to Fred or Ron. For all she knew, Fred wouldn't even go. There were plenty of dinners that the twins had missed. She would be polite and graceful and come back home and get drunk alone. Yes. That sounded like a plan. She grabbed her wand from the table, and before losing what little nerve she had, disapparated, leaving Crookshanks behind to finish his thorough inspection of his left, front paw.

Hermione stumbled slightly as she apparated onto the hill, her toe catching a small stone. She cursed and found her balance. The sun was already beginning to darken the sky, the air seeming heavy with shades of purple and blue. From where she stood she could see that the Burrow was already alight. The windows to the kitchen glowed golden, and the front door stood slightly open, a long strip of light cutting across the grass towards her. As Hermione drew closer, each step a little slower than the one before, she began to make out figures through the window. She saw Harry, his dark hair stark in contrast to the other heads bobbing around him. Ginny was at his side, and Ron, the shortest of the Weasley boys. She could hear laughter then, her feet moving from the gravel of the path to the hard stone of the walkway to the door. There was music too, lower than the voices that spilled out into the yard, but upbeat. Some scent, deep and salty came from the kitchen to mingle with the lavender and lemon balm that grew in Molly's garden. She was close now, so close that through the open door she the room more clearly. Everyone had gathered in the kitchen. She heard a voice break away from the rest, loud and laughing.

"Mum, if I told you that, I wouldn't have any secrets left now would I?" More laughter followed and Molly's response. But Hermione didn't care. Her feet had stopped moving and her heart had once again quickened. The voice belonged to _Fred_. In her rose a new feeling, the pleasant warmth that began somewhere around her stomach and flowed upward until her heart came to rest in her throat. She had felt it before, when Fred had stood so close behind her in the back of his shop. She liked the sound of his voice, it made her feel lighter and heavier at the same time and as she thought this some new unnamed feeling began to slowly work itself around all of that confusion and guilt. She shook her head, a piece of hair bouncing against her nose as she did so. Shoving whatever questions that this new realization brought. Another loud burst of laughter pushed out to her, and a gust of wind caught it, blowing it out towards the woods. She moved forward once again, her hand shaking slightly as she pulled open the door with it's familiar squeak and entered into the kitchen.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter


	13. Part 12:

Part 12:

There were toffee apples for dessert. The type of toffee that coats teeth together with sugar sweet tendrils that drift out onto lips and chins. The living room was packed, as it always was, but Hermione had taken special care to sit as far from Fred as the small space allowed. Ron was near her, separated only by the small side table, and Hermione could hear his slobbering, sucking bits at the last bits of apple flesh lingering around the core. Just as she turned to look at him, a spray of juice from the fruit he was devouring hit her on the cheek, right below the eye. She did her best not to make a face. Perhaps the only thing that hadn't changed since their Hogwarts days was Ron's vulgar eating habits. It had always disgusted her, even on their dates. She felt her lip tug up into a half smile as she realized that in, more ways than more, Ron kissed about as sloppily as he ate. He was all teeth, and tongue, and spit; there were no table manners there. It was just then, as she reminisced over those weeks and months she had wasted, Fred caught her attention. He was sitting on the floor, cross legged with his back against arm of the sofa. He was turned slightly, facing away from Hermione, listening to something that Arthur was saying. As he listened, and as Hermione watched, he took an absentminded bite from his apple. She noticed that he did it almost delicately, not shoving as much as possible into his maw as if at any moment whatever he did not eat would be ripped away. As he pulled the apple back, one thin ribbon of toffee attached itself to his lower lip, quivering slightly. He reached up with his thumb and wiped it away. And just as it had with Ron, her thoughts moved to how his almost beautiful way of eating compared to how he kissed. In the hot flash of a moment, Hermione imaged kissing him, his lips still tasting heavy with sugar, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Standing, she moved through the crowd and back into the darkened kitchen. She pulled the rag from it's hook next to the sink and ran cold water over it. Hermione was just wiping the bit of juice from her cheek, and trying her best not to continue to image what kissing Fred would feel like when Ginny found her in the kitchen.

"Are you alright?" Ginny asked, her voice quiet over the rush of the faucet. Hermione shut the water off, fixed her face with a smile that hopefully didn't express any of her thoughts, and turned to face Ginny.

"Yes, Ron got some apple on me." Ginny grimaced in response, but then set her face into a frown again.

"I mean in general." Hermione felt her chest tighten slightly, unsure of where this was going. "You've been quiet all night. You barely said a word a dinner, and you tried to leave before we even had dessert. Did Ron say something to upset you? Did I do something?" She asked. Guilt flooded Hermione, of course Ginny would assume it was something she had done/

"Of course you haven't done anything!" She said, making it sound as genuine as possible.

"So it was Ron then?" She heard anger spike in her voice. "What did he do, that slimy git? I'll hex him for you. Just say the word." Hermione smiled, Ginny was always the protector.

"Ron did nothing." Hermione said, winking as she added "for once."

"Then what is it?" The girl prodded, twisting the engagement ring around her finger in slow circles. "I can tell something is wrong." How could she express all of the emotions twisting inside her without telling Ginny about Fred's possible affection towards her? She was quiet for a long moment.

"I-" She paused, "Well, there is this guy...at work." Ginny raised an eyebrow, and leaned back against the table.

"Go on." The girl prompted,

"It's nothing really. He just, has said some things that make me think he...you know...likes me." Ginny's face broke into an unhindered smile, pushing herself up she sat on the table and crossed her legs.

"Do you like him back? What's his name? Do I know him?"

"I don't know how I feel, and that's the problem." Hermione said, choosing to ignore her other questions. "I've known him forever," Ginny narrowed her eyes slightly, and Hermione realized her mistake. "For as long as I've worked there, I mean." She says, covering with a quick smile. "And I never thought I could think of him in that way. But now that he's, sort of opened that door, I don't know if we can ever be friends again." There it was, the dark, messy truth of the matter. No matter what else, she was so worried that her friendship with Fred was ruined. Since the war, since she had seen him nearly die, they had become friends. Not just school friends, real friends. And what if whatever that night had opened inside of her, that panicked and unruly heartbeat, made it so that they couldn't go back to how things were. Ginny exhaled loudly,

"Well, what are you going to do?" She asked, "You should talk to him whether or not you like him back."

"I know I should, Gin, but that's the problem. He never actually told me that he's interested in me. And there's another problem." Ginny leaned forward, placing her elbows against her knees. He's friends with Ron. So what if something did happen between us" at saying even that out loud, her stomach tied itself in knots and she felt her cheeks warm "it could cause even more trouble between me and Ron, and that's the last thing I need." Ginny frowned, and didn't say anything for a moment. Finally, right as Hermione was about to question her silence, she slid from the table and walked so that the were only a foot apart from each other. Her voice was no longer teasing when she spoke, but there was something alight in her eyes all the same.

"That does complicate things." She said, reaching out to rub a comforting circle on Hermione's upper arm. "And I can't tell you what to do, or how to feel. But," She paused again, removing her hands and hitching her fingers together. "But," She said again, meeting Hermione's eyes, "if you decide you really do like this guy, then don't let Ron, or me, or anybody else stand in your way." Hermione thought it strange that Ginny put herself in the category of things that would hold Hermione back, but she let it go as she continued talking in that low, urgent tone. "You, more than almost anyone else I know, deserve love and happiness. You are amazing, and however this turns out, that won't change. Now," She said, all lightness and joy again, "will you stop your brooding and come play a round of exploding snap with me, or what?" Hermione gave a smile, but shook her head.

"I think I'm just going to go home. I, you know, have a lot to think over. Plus I've had enough of Ron for one night." Really she just couldn't stand to be in the room with Fred anymore, especially not after her little kissing fantasy and Ginny's words. Surprisingly, Ginny didn't try and stop her, she only planted a kiss on her cheek.

"You know you can talk to me whenever? You don't have to wait until I drag it out of you." And then she left, back into the room filled with conversation, and music, and Fred Weasley. And Hermione was left alone, in the darkened kitchen. Pulling her coat from the rack by the back door, Hermione slipped out into the garden before anyone could notice.

Author's note: As usual, don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Just so you know, i've already started the next section. It will be from Fred's point of view.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter


	14. Part 13:

Part 13:

Fred didn't notice exactly what time Hermione left the Burrow. In fact, he had spent the entire evening doing his very best not to notice her at all. Each time he failed, and his eyes settled briefly on her, his chest would tighten. There was still pain, yes, the helpless feeling of knowing that her heart did not love him. But now there was more. Being in her presence had, surprisingly, had the opposite effect than he had feared. Instead of that dark cloud returning with brute force, it seemed to have been pushed further away. Just being in the same room as Hermione, breathing her air and hearing her voice, had seemed to weave a part of him back together.

He was shocked when, after most everyone had trickled out with shouted goodbyes, to notice Hermione wasn't sitting across the room from him anymore. When had she left? He was sure he would have noticed if she had gone around wishing everyone a good night as normally did. Perhaps she was in the bathroom. He decided to go and check if her coat, the black one with the dark buttons, was still hanging by the door. As nonchalantly as possible, he stood from the couch, careful not to trip over Harry, who, after his third toffee apple, had sprawled across the floor, head in Ginny's lap. George wasn't paying his twin any attention, busy, beating Charlie at chess, and everyone else had left. Ginny's eyes met Fred's, her hand stilling in the middle of stroking the dark haired head in her lap. She raised an eyebrow in question.

"Grabbing some water." He said, quietly.

"Bring me some." Groaned Harry. Fred laughed, once. He moved into the darkened kitchen, not bothering to turn on a light. Her coat was gone. Perhaps he had just missed her, Bill and Fleur had only left a few minutes before, maybe she had snuck out with their exit. He moved towards the window searching the blackness outside. If she left with Bill and Fleur he should still be able to see her walking out past the wards to disapparate. She wasn't there.

"See a shooting star?" Ginny asked, suddenly behind him. Fred jumped, and whirled to face her, trying to stop the blush that was already heating his face.

"What? No. I was…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. "I thought I saw a gnome. What are you doing in here." Ginny snorted, whether at disbelief at his excuse or at his question he wasn't sure.

"I decided I wanted a drink to." She was pulling a bottle dark with rum from the cabinet.

"You drink too much." Fred noted. There wasn't judgement there, just an observation.

"You don't drink enough." She retorted, spinning the cap between her thumb and middle finger. After pouring her drink and returning the bottle, she walked over to look past him out the window. Fred wasn't quite sure what to do, having been caught red handed in his looking for Hermione. Should he get his water and go back out to George? Should he continue to stand in the darkness and wait for Ginny to say something? Should he say something? Merlin, he was so unsure of everything now. Besides George, he had always been closest to his sister. He felt as if he wanted to tell her everything, just like he had George, but Ginny also had ties and allegiances to Hermione. He didn't want to risk putting her in an uncomfortable decision. Besides, he didn't even want to imagine the look on her face if he ever even _hinted_ at having romantic feelings towards her best friend. He shuddered at the thought. Ginny sighed, taking a sip from the glass in her hand and then said,

"Hermione was telling me something interesting earlier." She said it calmly, like polite conversation. But Fred's heart sped up. He hadn't ever thought that Hermione would talk to Ginny about his strange almost love confession. He wanted to respond, to be as unfazed as she was, but all he could managed was a tight lipped _mmh?_ Ginny continued on, seeming to understand that was as much of a reaction as she was going to get from him.

"Yeah, apparently some guy has been making moves on her…" she paused to take another drink as Fred's heart threatened to break through his rib cage and fall limp to the floor. "Some guy from her work. Has she mentioned anyone to you?" she asked, continuing to stare out into the garden. Now there was a new emotion, a different pain than the one that had surrounded him in the past weeks. This was sharp and slicing, jealousy. Again all he could force out of his mouth was a half strangled sound that resembled the word _no_.

"Hmm, strange." Ginny commented. "From what she told me, she's real confused over the whole thing. But I'm me, and I can tell she likes him deep down." Again her voice was too calm. Fred felt hot tears at the corners of his eyes as he desperately tried to reason with himself. Just because there was some other guy in Hermione's life didn't mean that it was the end of all hope for him. He wanted Ginny to tell him who this man was. He wanted to beat the shit out of him, to hex him until his toes fell off. Ginny, normally so very perceptive, seemed completely unaware of the inner turmoil of her brother. "What's strangest though," she said, now turning slightly to face him, "was that apparently he is close to Ron." Fred didn't understand why this would be strange. Ron worked at the ministry too, it made sense that they would know the same people. When Fred didn't respond, clearly not grasping what Ginny was saying she rephrased. "I just mean that all of Ron's friends from work are total prats. Like the worst. And Hermione has told me a thousand and one times that she hates all of them." She, after finishing, met his eyes for a long moment, as if trying to communicate some secret message that he didn't understand. Finally, she rolled her eyes. "I just don't think she would change her mind about one of them so suddenly." Dumping the last of rum from her glass into the sink, she rinsed it and filled it with water for Harry.

"Maybe," She said, as she started back towards the living room, "it's not a guy from work...though for the life of me I can't figure out why she would life. Oh well. I guess we'll know when she starts bringing this mystery man around for dinner." She laughed then, and disappeared back into the lighted room. There was something, like puzzle pieces clicking together, slowly coming into focus into his head. And like before, he didn't want to let himself think the thoughts. He didn't want to think that Ginny's words held any secret meaning. He was alone in the kitchen, the tap dripping water into the empty sink. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of water against metal, trying to control this new, strange hope that was burrowing inside of him. _Drip, drip, drip._ His heartbeats seemed to slow to the pace of the leaking faucet and with each exhalation of breath, he felt Hermione's name on the edge of his lips.

Author's note: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews and messages I've gotten over the past few weeks. You all make my heart so happy. Also, do you think the next part should be in Fred's head or Hermione's? Let me know in a review of pm!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...obviously.


	15. Part 14:

Part 16:

There is a near tangible beauty in the slow unraveling of a truth. Almost like the the final notes of some unfinished melody hanging in the air. The way it folds in and over itself, connecting threads with loose knots that, as time progresses tighten into certainty. Fred felt this in the days following his parents anniversary dinner. Ginny's words, the strange and almost fervent double meaning that she tried so desperately to impart. At first, he kept it from George because he didn't dare hope. That fluttering, stupid heart of his kept whispering that maybe his assumptions over her lack of feelings had been wrong. He spent hours trying to squelch his hope, to chain it back where it belonged, and telling George would only add more. He could already see it. George's lips peeling back in that cocky smile. _What did I tell you?_ He would say, leaning against the counter maybe, or falling backing into the couch. _Hope always pays off, brother. Now all you have to do is ask her out._ And then he would laugh and prod at Fred until he did, and he couldn't handle that. But later, once he realized that what he was feeling wasn't just hope but also this slowly growing confidence that Ginny had been trying to tell him that Hermione could possibly return his feelings; he didn't _want_ to tell George. He felt as if this possible truth was some small flame. A secret. A tiny thing to be held tightly between his palms, and that if he opened it to George the thing would surely die. With plenty of guilt, he could not fight that there was a sort of pleasure knowing something that George did not. He knew he shouldn't. They were brothers, more than brothers. There were cords, tightly wound and invisible that bound the two together. He would tell him, he promised himself that, just later….after he had decided what he was going to do.

On the fourth day, Fred once again found himself letting the potion he was working on burn, distracted by his thoughts of Hermione. He grunted as he used a scouring charm to clean the dark amber and somewhat sticky liquid from the blackened cauldron. He needed to get a hold of himself. Although he was glad that his sadness had given way to this new emotion, somewhere halfway between hesitant joy and a deep shyness, he needed to be able to get work done. A thin layer of resolution began to harden within him, he needed to see her. Not just from across a dinner table, actually see her. He needed to talk to her, because until he did he couldn't be sure that Ginny's ideas were true. So far, not thinking had been the main production of his heartache, walking Hermione out that night at the Burrow which led to her stopping by the shop, which led to his trying to force some sort of confession from her. It had all been rushed, but he worried that if he waited too long he would lose his nerve. It was still morning, the shop already buzzing with the sound of laughter and shouting. As quietly as possible, as not to alert George or Verity to his escape, he pushed his arms through his jacket and opened the back door.

The alleyway behind the shop was empty, as always. The pavers were loose in a few places, grass poking up between them, and Fred slowed his step, half expected George to burst through the back door and shout questions after him. He didn't walk out onto the main path of Diagon Alley until he was out of sightline of the shop's front windows. Then, he cut across the small crowds towards the Leaky Cauldron.

The Leaky Cauldron was mostly empty. Still a few hours away from the lunch crowds but most of the overnight guests had cleared out for the day, only the morning drunks sat in their usual places. After ordering two coffees in paper cups, Fred leaned against the hard edge of the bar, trying to distract himself. He didn't really have plan, nothing more than to show up at Hermione's office and hope she could spare a few minutes. He wasn't going to do anything stupid, hopefully. He just wanted to be with her, see if anything had irrevocably changed. A large man to Fred's left, belly wide and a small rip in the seam of his coat, coughed loudly. He had an empty plate in front of him, gravy still pooled at the center halfway congealed, and he nursed a glass of something that was probably brandy. Fred noticed that man's shoelace was untied, but for some reason couldn't bring himself to tell him. It felt rude to disrupt his deep thought, even with something so practical. Instead, Fred turned back towards the bar right as Tom placed two, steaming cups in front of him. With a nod, Fred slid the galleons to him, and did his best to carry both cups in one hand, nestling one in between his forearm and chest, so that he could grab a handful of floo powder.

"Ministry of Magic." He called and stepped into the flames, inhaling deeply in an attempt to steady his nerves. The coffee was strong, he could tell that even from the smell, earthy and stinging. Doing his best not to spill the near boiling liquid over his hand, he steadied himself and stepped through the dark fireplace and into the lobby of the ministry.

Once at that fourth floor, he hesitated slightly. He knew her office had a brown door, and was to the left of that long hallway, but they all had brown doors.

"Hello again!" Came a chipper voice from beside him. He turned, eyes moving down to find the face of the young secretary he had met the last time he was here. What was her name? Emily? No, but something like that. He was normally so good with people, easily able to fish out the name that matched the face. But he had been so distracted last time.

"Hello," He said, as warmly as possible. "Fancy seeing you here." She laughed, a little too high pitched to sound real.

"What brings you back here, Fred?" She asked, tugging slightly at the collar of her shirt, pulling a button free so that a bit of the pale skin of her chest was exposed. Shit. She remembered his name, that made his forgetfulness all the more unforgivable. Her eyes were doing that same thing as last time, moving over him in that appraising way. It made him feel exposed.

"Actually," He said, a nervous laugh bubbling in his chest. "I'm here to see Hermione again, and ehh, I can't remember where her office is?" Something fell in the girl's face, just slightly.

"It's the third door, that one." She pointed in the general direction. "But I don't think she is back yet. They had some sort of big staff meeting this morning. But I didn't need to be there." She gestured around to the mostly empty desks, folders laying open and ink drying on the tips of quills. A few people were beginning to meander back in, but perhaps they were just coming in late. "I guess that's the silver lining to only being a secretary." The girl continued, seemingly unaware of how focused Fred was on Hermione's office door. She lowered her voice slightly, adding bravado and drawing out the words in showmanship, " _Do poorly on your NEWTS and you'll never have to go to a staff meeting._ That should be a slogan." She laughed bitterly, and Fred noticed how young she truly was. Really, she couldn't be more than eighteen, but already her mouth had that firm turn down of someone who has set herself to be unhappy. Fred smiled at her,

"I didn't even finish school." He said, and her eyes widened slightly. "Yep, left before my seventh year was over and now I run a shop in Diagon Alley. NEWTS aren't everything. They aren't anything, actually. " He smiled at her, this young thing who knew nothing of all that the world would offer her. She reached out to touch his arm, her skin seemed cold.

"Thank you. Really, thank you. This is my first job, and I just feel so out of place. Most people in this department are middle aged, married men. I wish there were more people like you. Young...handsome." She gave him a smile that he thought was intended to be alluring.

"Emberly!" Snapped one such middle aged wizard, striding past. Emberly! Fred nodded to himself. That was her name "I need to dictate a report. Come to my office."

"That's my cue." She said with another high pitched laugh. But then her face fell again, grew as cold as her hand had been. "And there's your Hermione." She might have said more, might have tried to ask him on another date, but Fred had whirled towards where her eyes had fallen before she had even finished. He didn't even have time to focus on the warmth the words _your Hermione_ sent coursing through him. There she was, standing just inside the doorway, not yet aware of his presence. She was holding a notebook open, pointing a passage out to a rat faced woman, wearing red stockings. He didn't want to disturb her, but he couldn't help it. Before he could stop himself he said her name, not loudly, but loud enough.

"Hermione." He wasn't calling to her, not exactly, it felt almost like an exhalation of a long held breath. A coming together of those final threads. He wasn't even sure she would be able to hear him, he hoped she wouldn't. But her head shot up, and her eyes searched through the room, now half filled with workers. As she landed on him, his heart raced. To his surprise, and joy, her face changed. Several emotions flickered across it, but her lips parted in a smile, a real smile, and her mouth formed the word "Fred" although he wasn't sure if she said it out loud. Either way, his stomach flipped. There she was. And that small fire, that secret thing that had been glowing within him since Ginny's conversation seemed to flare. His entire body was alight, how could no one else see it. There she was, and she was so beautiful, and every nerve was on fire. There she was, and he loved her.

Author's note: Hello there, pals. Here ya go. Thank you to all who reviewed, and for those who said I was being too hard on Ron, I hear you. He probably won't come up for a few more sections, but I'll try and soften a bit. As always, I love, love, love to hear your opinions. You all are some of the best folks out there.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

PS: I got a message asking what I was listening to while writing. It really depends, it tends to change section to section. For this section: The first half was earlier this week and I was listening to Ben Sollee, but as I finished up the section tonight it was The Fables. So yeah, now you know.


	16. Part 15:

Part 15:

Fred stood still, unable to move once the jolt of seeing her had passed. He felt suddenly very hollow, as if he might topple over, or blow away, or vanish entirely. Disappear under her unwavering gaze. After what felt like several small eternities, but was really four slow breaths, Hermione began to move towards him. That smile was still on her face, soft and light.

"Hello." She breathed out the word. Fred noticed that there was a small amount of shock in her voice. But there didn't seem to be any malice or uncomfortable anxiety held in that one word. So he returned it to her, matching her tone,

"Hello." There was silence for a moment. Hermione's eyes skirting around his face. It wasn't in that hungry and almost visceral way that Emberly had stared at him. It felt as if Hermione was memorizing, not evaluating. He would have been content to stand there, a few steps away from her, for the rest of his life, or at least until the building crumbled around him. But he felt the bodies of other workers around him, noticed a few stares, and knew that more people would notice the longer they stayed there. He shoved his left hand forward, towards Hermione.

"I brought you coffee." He said, and her cheeks pinked slightly at his words. For some reason, her reaction brought up some of the nervousness he had been fighting since first leaving the shop this morning. He suddenly felt shy, unsure of what to say, how to justify his presence. "You...you mentioned hating the coffee from the place near here. I needed a pick-me-up and thought you might too." His ears felt warm. She didn't respond right away so he decided to push a little further. "Besides, it feels like ages since I've actually seen you." She smiled, but this time there was another, less positive emotion in it that Fred could not work out.

"Thank you. I…" She trailed off, hand still half extended for the cup, but not quite touching it. He couldn't help the disappointment that began to flow, low and deep, at the uncertainty in her voice. He did his best to stifle it, to keep it at bay, but it was relentless. All the joy of seeing her seemed to now be tinged with this new feeling. _What had he expected?_ He questioned. What hope had been dashed to produce such a response? Had he really thought that just because she may or may not have had a conversation with Ginny that suddenly she would be arse of elbow for him? Was he that stupid? He had never held any real hope that this day alone would end in her throwing herself into his arms, so he should have no space for disappointment or disillusionment. And yet, there it was, dark and foaming. He chided himself for his overreaction, breathing a heavy sigh to steady himself. His goal for coming was simple, albeit filled with twisted logic, but simple all the same. He had decided that if he could be in the same space with her while wielding this new knowledge that perhaps the door to her feelings wasn't as shut and locked as he thought it was, he would be able to tell just how deep her feelings went. Twisted, but simple.

He moved forward half a step. Just enough that the cup touched against her extended fingers. The warmth of it seemed to startle her out of whatever thoughts she had been equally enwrapped in, and she wrapped her hand around the coffee. When her fingers inevitably touched against his thumb, her eyes flitted upwards, finally meeting his. He saw in her eyes only confusion, they were wide with it. All of his disappointment disappeared, replaced by guilt. He had been so selfish throughout this whole trainwreck of a month. Never had he stopped to think that perhaps Hermione could simply not be ready. In his mind, choosing between his relationship, as tenuous and stiff as it had always been, with Ron and the possibility of a future with the woman before him had been no decision at all. He had assumed that if she held any interest in him at all, it would just as easy for her. But there, as she looked at him, he realized how wrong he was. Her gaze, in the only word he could find that described it, was tortured.

"Thank you." She said again. He pulled his hand away, her skin no longer feeling pleasant against his. This is not how he would do this. He would not show up at her office, stalk her, bully her through gifts and expectations into the response that he wanted. This was not him.

"You're so welcome." He did his best to make his voice hold the usual carefree tone that he prided himself on, and almost succeeded. He took a step back from her, "Well, I'm off. I've got places to meet, people to see. You know the life of an extremely successful wizard." He laughed once, loud and ingenuine. "It was great seeing you, Hermione." He turned from her then, just as his voice stumbled over her name. She said something, not loud enough for him to hear, but he didn't stop. Dumping his own coffee into a nearby bin, he turned away from the crowded elevator and took the stairs to the atrium two at a time.

When he finally reached the long room, not as busy now that the morning rush had ended, he was panting. Where did he want to go? His head reeled as he leaned against the dark stone wall. He needed advice. George? He thought back to the way he had wooed Angela, showing up at her flat every evening with flowers and wine until she agreed to go out with him. No, not George. He sighed as he realized that there was only one answer. Pausing only long enough to figure out where exactly to go at this time of day, he disapparated in search of Ginny Weasley.

Author's Note: I know, I know...another step in the wrong direction. But listen, Fred's got to figure some stuff out for himself first. I promise, _pinky promise_ even, that this will be a happy ending, and that soon things will start moving in a better direction. But there really is a lot to unpack, you know? Next part will be Fred's point of view, but then there will be a couple from Hermione. Anyway, as always, I love hearing from you. Y'all are rad as hell.

Disclaimer: Clearly, I am not JK Rowling...and i don't own Harry Potter


	17. Part 16:

Part 16:

Fred found Ginny next to the quidditch pitch. Above him, two women–beater's he assumed from the ox shoulders and meaty hands that held the bats–twisted sharp turns and dives. He missed flying drills. Ginny was seated on one of the low wooden benches that surrounded the Holyhead Harpies' practice pitch. She had one boot unlaced, and was in the process of removing the second.

"Hey." He said while still several feet from her, not wanting to startle his sister. All the same, she jumped slightly, turning and flinging her left boot at him. Unprepared to dodge, it hit him with an audible _thud._

"Don't sneak up on people like that." She said, not bothering to apologize. She turned to fish through the bag at her feet, pulling out a bottle of water. After taking a long drink she looked back aga Fred, who was still rubbing the spot where the boot made contact, right under his left collarbone. There would be a bruise there tomorrow. "You gonna sit down or what? I don't have that long of a break." Fred noted, as he bent to pick up her shoe, that she didn't sound surprised to see him.

"Aren't you going to ask what I'm doing here? I've never visited you at practice. Hell, I don't even come to half your games." He dropped the boot in her lap and settled down next to her. The wood was cold and rough beneath him. She shrugged,

"Honestly, I'm surprised it took you this long. Maybe you are the dumbest brother after all, all this time I thought it would be Percy or Ron…." She let out one, half hearted laugh. "Really though, I half expected you to follow me home the night of Mum and Dad's dinner, or at least show up here the next morning." She shook her head, taking another drink of water. Fred was, once again, shocked by how much insight this girl had.

"Very funny. I'm here now." He didn't really know what else to say, so he buried in hands deep into the pockets of his coat and looked back up at the two beaters. One of them, the smaller of the two, was laughing. She was stilled in mid air, head tilted back and her shoulders were shaking. The other yelled something at her, but by the time the sound reached Fred's ears it was muffled and unintelligible.

"So," Ginny said said, drawing his attention back to her face. She had turned so she was straddling the bench, facing Fred. "You and Hermione." Fred didn't know what he had been expecting, but whatever it was it hadn't been that blunt. He felt his cheeks warm, and he resisted the urge to cover them with his palms.

"Well, I mean, it's not like _that_." He said quickly. Ginny shook her head,

"Then what is it like? Huh?"

"It's….well, it's just" He fell silent for a moment, trying to find words, any words. To his surprise Ginny didn't jump in or roll her eyes. Quite the opposite actually. As the seconds ticked by unceremoniously while Fred untied all the sentences in his mouth, Ginny just watched him. Her eyes were appraising, noting the small changes his face made as he thought. Finally he opened his mouth again. "I like her." He said and then paused, watching Ginny for any sort of reaction. She gave none. "I like her a lot, and I'm just worried that I'm messing all of this up."

"How so?" Ginny asked, her voice betraying the curiosity she had been hiding.

"Well, on one hand, I feel like I'm being an arse. Like I'm forcing her to reciprocate my feelings. I mean, I started this whole thing one night when she came to the shop, probably before that even, if we're being honest. And then today I just showed up at her work." Ginny interrupted then,

"What do you mean, you showed up at her work?" Her voice was slightly alarmed and louder than either had been anticipating.

"I just wanted to see her. I thought that if we talked I would suddenly know exactly how much she liked me and then I would know what to do."  
"Since you're here, I'm guessing it didn't?" Ginny said, her voice had returned to normal but her eyebrows were still raised, drawing thin lines of worry across her forehead. Fred laughed,

"I didn't really give it the chance. Once I actually saw her, and gave her the coffee I brought, I realized what I was saying earlier about me forcing myself on her, and then I sort of just…left." Saying it out loud, he couldn't help the smile that pulled his mouth up. "I am ridiculous." He began to laugh then, leaning forward so his elbows dug into his knees and his hands covered his face. He laughed until his lungs ached for air. When he finally composed himself enough to look at Ginny, she wasn't laughing. Although her eyes were slightly lit with amusement she was working to keep her face serious.

"Listen. You are my brother. And I want you to be happy." Her tone pulled the smile from Fred. She was leaning towards him, earnestly. "You deserve to be happy. But Hermione does too. Don't freak out, look at me, I'm not saying she doesn't like you." She added the last bit when Fred had turned away, looking back up at the beaters, now joined by the seeker. He felt Ginny rest a tentative hand on his arm. "What I mean is that you have to get how much harder this is for her."

"I mean, yeah, I know Ron makes things tricky, –" Ginny cut him off, holding up her hand.

"It's not just Ron. Ugh, how do I explain this." She pushed a few hairs out of her eye that had fallen from the tight ponytail. "Who does Hermione have? Like who is her family?" She paused for a moment, Fred wasn't sure if he should answer. She began ticking names off on her fingers. "Harry, Ron, me, Mum and Dad, you and George, who else? Not her parents, they're still wherever she sent them before the war. Not brothers or sisters. It's just us. Remember when she and Ron broke up, and it was right before that years Christmas? Remember how she, obviously, didn't come to dinner that year. Who do you think she celebrated with?" Again Fred felt the sensation of puzzle pieces turning and slowly clicking into place. Ginny continued, impassioned now. "It's not like Harry or I would ever abandon her, but she felt like she was losing everyone then. So starting anything with you, even admitting feelings to herself about you...that is a much bigger decision for her. For you, what do you have to lose? Huh? A fight with Ron, maybe a few awkward family dinners if things don't work out? Think about what she would be risking." She sighed, turning back so they were side by side on the bench again and pulled the boot back onto her foot. "Besides, I know you. And I would bet every galleon I have that you haven't actually told her how you feel. You've been cryptic as hell and expected her to do all the emotional heavy lifting." She bent over and began lacing the boots back up. Fred realized his mouth was hanging open just a bit and he closed it.

"So…" He said, barely over a whisper. "What do I do now?" Ginny finished tying the boots and stood, facing him. She rested her hands on each hip, a pose he knew very well from her.

"I'd say step one is to figure out if what you feel for her is worth putting her through all that shit I just explained. I don't doubt you think she's great, I mean she is great. But is whatever you're feeling the real deal? And second, if you decide it is. You need to be a fucking adult and tell her how you feel. I've got to get back." She said, pointing to the air. "I've been slacking all day anyway, and Mariana is just waiting for any excuse to get me benched." Fred nodded, smiling at her.

"Thank you." He said, trying to pack as much meaning into those two words as he could. She nodded and began to walk away. "I'll see you when I see you." He called out the first half of their childhood goodbye.

"And not a second sooner." She yelled back over her shoulder, bending to pick up her broom. He stood, turning to leave before she left the ground. He had so much to think about, but his heart was lighter, he felt a smile at the edge of his mouth just wanting to burst across his face. And he let it, beaming uncontrollably as he apparated back to Diagon Alley.

Author's Note: Hello friends. Sorry it has been so long since I've updated. The last couple of weeks have been a roller coaster. I will do my best to get another part posted by Wednesday. But after that I'm heading out for spring break across Europe and won't be back until the last week in April, so I doubt I'll have time to write until then. Anyway, thank you for being as amazing as you are.

Disclaimer: I thought I saw JK Rowling in Stockbridge yesterday...but it turned out just to be an blonde woman who smelled like lavender. Suffice to say if I can't tell the difference between JK Rowling and a middle aged blonde woman with too much eyeshadow...then I am not JK Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter.


	18. Part 17:

Part 17:

Hermione had given up any hope of finishing the work she had brought home. This was in part due to the fact that Crookshanks had stretched himself out over her lap, on top of the open folder, and the vibrations of his rhythmic purring was too calming for Hermione to justify moving him. As loathe as she was to admit it, she hadn't been getting anything done _before_ Crookshanks came over either. Her head was circling tightly over her interaction with Fred from that morning. It had been so odd and out of place that the rest of her day had seemed hazy in comparison. She couldn't remember anything from that morning's meeting, or even what she had eaten for lunch.

She let out a heavy breath, trying to shift into a more comfortable position on the couch without disturbing the cat. Once again she replayed the scene in her head. He had been there for her, yes, he had brought her coffee. It wasn't like he had stopped by on his way to meet Harry or for some sort of meeting. He had come for her. That thought made her stomach tighten. The knot then, seemed to grow, rising to her throat as she folded around the memory of her name. The way he had said it. Who had she been talking with before? What had she been saying? She couldn't remember. It felt as if his voice, his voice calling her name, had pulled her from sleep. And now, all day, it felt as if she were only just seeing the world for the first time.

The first feeling, after that burst of joy that radiated through her body hot and blinding at the realization of who it was, had been dread. She wasn't ready to have whatever conversation he would want to have, not then. She could not deny that there was something in her, some sort of shift, but there was still so much confusion. She began, in those first seconds, to prepare herself. How could she buy herself time? How could she explain to him that all she had was questions, no answers. Her hands were empty of things to give, and every time she saw him it only made the confusion worse, deeper and more tangled. She reminded herself of all the thinking she had done since that night in the shop. If he asked her...anything about her feelings towards him, she would say no. It was better to dash his hopes then keep them alight only to hurt him later.

But then his hand had touched hers. The inside edge of his thumb was warm where it sat against the paper cup, but the outside was still cool from the winter air. In that moment, right as she met his eyes, she felt despair settle heavily against her chest. She cared for him. It was impossible to deny now, as they stood so close to one another, not even an arm's length apart. But this admittance, this realization, would only make her decision harder. As soon as her hand had wrapped around the cup, he had retracted his own, too quickly. Something had shifted in his face, his eyes growing distant, the corners of his mouth turning down. Had he seen something in her face? What distressed her most, though, was not realizing how deep her feelings were. It was how childishly upset she was when he left so suddenly. She wanted to be near him, even though she knew it would bring nothing but heartache. He seemed so nervous in those last seconds before walking away. Foolishly, she wondered if in the moment she decided she cared for him, he realized he no longer cared for her. Even as she replayed the memory, hours later in her flat, she couldn't help but feel the absence of his finger against hers.

Crookshanks moved, rolling his head to fix one green, glassy eye on Hermione's face with a certain level of disapproval.

"Well what do you think I should do?" She asked halfheartedly, rubbing her thumb along the bridge of his nose. "Huh? Any suggestions?" Crookshanks opened his mouth, pulling the soft skin in between her thumb and pointer finger between his teeth.. "OW!" She yelped, pulling her hand back. He picked up his purring again.

"Well I don't know what that was supposed to mean." She said, leaning her head back against the couch. "I could ruin everything." She said to the ceiling. "I could destroy their family, my family." Her hand was still stinging slightly, from the bite, although no blood was drawn. "But I like him." She said turning her face to press her cheek against the fabric of cushion. "Fred is kind, and funny, and so smart. And...and...ugh!" She stood suddenly, Crookshanks letting out a loud protest as he slunk into the kitchen. "I'm sabotaging my own happiness either way. I can't win!" She shouted to the empty room. The sudden desire to throw something overwhelmed her. A small white vase sat on the side table, perpetually blooming pink buds leaning towards the sun. She grasped the cold glass in her hand, and as hard as she could, threw it at the wall above the bookcase. As the water and glass sprayed out onto the carpet, Hermione let out a hitched breath, hot tears gathering in her vision. The destruction felt good, but only for a moment. She would dry the water and fix the vase later. All she did in the moment was bend and pick up the unharmed, charmed flowers setting them on the bookcase. She pressed her palms into her eyes, breathing slowly. She could hear water dripping, probably from the top of bookcase onto the floor. It was rhythmic and soft.

"It'...o...kay. You're...o...kay." She repeated to herself, one syllable with each drip of water. "You...have...time. You're...o...kay." The water eventually stopped, and so did Hermione. But she stood there still, her hands pressed firmly over her eyes, trying to chase any thought of Fred from her mind. At some point, she slid so she sat on the edge of the coffee table, still not opening her eyes.

She thought she heard footsteps on the walkway, but did not bother to look up. It wasn't until the second low knock that she realized it was her door someone was at. Jumping forward, she avoided the bits of white glass sticking in the carpet and moved towards the front door. No one ever came to her flat, not all the way in muggle London. Perhaps it was a neighbor who got her mail by mistake, not that she ever got muggle mail. The door creaked faintly as she twisted the knob, cold against her hands. The first thing she noticed was not the person who had done the knocking, but how dark it was outside. The curtains in her front room had been pulled shut, and night had fallen without her realizing it. A distant car horn pulled her back to the face of the man who stared down at her cautiously. Fred Weasley stood in her doorway, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. Hermione stared back at him, her eyes wide and her breath stopped in her throat.

"Hey." He said quietly. "I know it's late, but can I come in?"

Author's Note: Thank you all for being so patient with me over these past few weeks! I had an amazing, and exhausting trip. But I have returned and will hopefully get back to my semi regular updates. Thank you to all the kind reviews and messages I have been receiving, you all never fail to amaze me. Keep being stellar, and as always don't hesitate to leave a review of message me with anything!

Disclaimer: I might have seen Daniel Radcliffe in London this past week, but I definitely don't own Harry Potter.


	19. Part 18:

Part 18:

Fred's mouth felt filled with sand, with pebbles, with stones as long as fingers. He couldn't get the words around them, couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. Hermione stood in the doorway, the light from the hall lamp squeezing around her to make her face almost invisible. It was so quiet that he was sure she could hear how fast the relentless pounding of his heart was. How many seconds had past since he spoke? Five? Seven? He wasn't sure, but he knew it was too many. She hadn't moved or spoken since opening the door. He shifted the weight of his body from his left foot to his right, and in doing this the soft rustle of his coat against his shirt seemed to puncture the precarious silence they had created. Hermione moved inward, pulling the door open in invitation.

"Of course." She was blinking rapidly, as if embarrassed by her delay in hospitality. The hallway was strikingly warm compared to the close to midnight air he had walked in to get here. He hadn't dared apparate into her flat, and since it was in the middle of a muggle neighborhood he was left to walk for half of an hour from the alleyway to her door. He had only been to her home twice before, and only inside once. He remembered it though, nothing had changed in the several years since his last visit. The walls were white, the carpets dark grey, everything in near perfect order except for the stacks of books that papers that lined the shelves. Those were filled to bursting. He heard Crookshanks meow as he moved down the hallway towards the visitor, but Hermione bent and scooped him up before he could snake between Fred's legs. She still had a vague look of shock freezing her eyes wide, but she didn't look unhappy that he was there. That was promising. He was worried that they would stand in the hallway just as they had in the door, but Hermione led him into the living room. She stopped short in the doorway, so unexpectedly that Fred bumped into her.

"Sorry!" He said quickly, searching past her for the source of her pause. He noticed several large white fragments that looked like glass sitting on the floor.

"I…" She said quietly, and he noticed that the back of her neck had pinked "I forget that a vase broke. Give me a moment." She went in, walking gingerly to avoid any shard, and picked up her wand. After a whisper and a flick of her hand Fred watched as the the vase, white with blue flowers around the base, formed back together. He loved to watch her do magic, it was...well...spellbinding. After it had settled itself back on the bookcase he assumed it fell from, they both sat, Hermione on the couch and Fred in the chair across from her. He wanted to give her space, distance to breathe. Now that there were no more steps to take, now that she sat a few feet away from him–watching him, now that all of his energy was not spent holding his shaking and nervous form upright, the weight of what he had to do hit him. He was suddenly tired, weary perhaps a better word for the way his shoulders slumped and he wanted to curl inward into the softness of the chair. There was no getting out of it now, though. He could not explain away his sudden appearance or his vague demand for entrance. It had to be done. A part of him, that selfish, unruly part, hoped that if he sat long enough in silence Hermione would speak. That she would say her own emotional state so that he need not reveal his. But he knew better than that. This was not her peace that needed saying. The long inhale of breath he took to steady himself sounded deafening in the quietness of the room. There was the shuffle of movement as Crookshanks moved unseen in some other room, and a distant honk of a car horn. Muggle London was always so strange to him.

"I need to say something." He finally said, rolling his eyes inwardly at the obviousness of that statement. All the same, Hermione–who up until that point had been tracing the lattice pattern of vines on her curtains with her eyes–looked back at him. He could not read her face, it was closed off and set firm. "And before I say anything I need to say something else, okay?" At this, Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. When she spoke, Fred noticed how small her voice sounded, how overwhelmed it was by the awkwardness he was forcing on her.

"So you are going to say something and then say something else?" Fred's mouth, without his permission, lifting into a small smile.

"Well, yeah. The first part is more of a disclaimer." Again her eyebrows furrowed, but no question followed this time. Perhaps it was out of worry? He took another breath, this one shaky. He noticed his hands quivering slightly as well. "So the first part." He leaned forward slightly, trying to meet her eyes. She seemed to be looking just to the left of his face, then to the right, avoiding his glance. "You are my friend. I am so glad you are my friend. I never thought that one of Ron's school pals" she stiffened slightly at that phrase "would become so important in my life, and the rest of my families lives." He let out a nervous laugh, a release of the tension that was steadily building in his chest. She continued to avert her gaze, staring at his chest, but she was sitting very still. He continued on. "So before I say this next part, I need you to understand that it isn't something I'm just saying." Again the eyebrows furrowed. He thought for a moment for a way to clarify. "What I mean is that this isn't something I'm taking lightly. You know that I hate taking life, or anything, too seriously." The nervous laugh pushed through his lips again. "But I am taking this seriously." He paused, looking at her. She, slowly, met his eyes.

"Fred, you're really confusing me." She said, rubbing the middle and pointer fingers of her left hand against a spot just over her eyebrow as if he was giving her a headache. He smiled,

"Sorry. I am trash at this sort of thing. I just...I just need you to understand how much your friendship means to me, because it means so much." He stood then, the nervous energy making it impossible to stay seated. His talking sped up then too, as if he didn't say it now she would kick him out. He could feel her eyes tracking him as he paced around the small room. "I feel like I messed everything up with us that night in the shop. Things haven't been the same, and it kills me because things were good before." He ran a hand through his hair, pausing his movement. "And part of me wanted to come here and tell you how sorry I was for acting strange and that all I want is for things to go back to how they were these last few years instead of this past month." She opened her mouth to say something but he continued on, "But then I realized that things between us got weird that night in my shop because I pushed you to tell if you, even back in our Hogwarts day, 'liked' me. I wanted you to tell me exactly how you felt about me. I expected you to do something that I wasn't ready or able to do then. How unfair of that is me!" Fred leaned against the wall, tilting his head to stare at the swirled patterns marked into the ceiling. "So I'm going to tell you how I feel, because that is the only way that is fair to you. And no matter how you feel about what I say doesn't change the fact that you are part of the Weasley family and you always have a place with us. No matter what." He kept head still tilted skyward, unable to look at her as he said it. He couldn't watch if her face became angry or sad. Instead he pretended it was Ginny in the room, that they were just continuing the conversation from earlier. He felt the soft push of Crookshanks rubbing against his leg, felt the cat's body vibrating with an unheard purr. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and began to speak.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your patience over these last weeks. I promised you an update and instead disappeared! Just after posting that last part I got quite sick and was down for the count for two weeks, and then I was traveling back to the states. But I am home and well again, so hopefully there will be no more disruptions to this story. You all have shown so much love over this short hiatus. You are rad as hell. Tomorrow is my birthday so I won't be writing then, but expect another part on Sunday or Monday at the latest. I promise not to keep you waiting long!  
All my love,

E

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...


	20. Part 19:

Part 19:

"For a very long time, longer than I'd ever admit, I think I've cared for you. Not just in the brother/sister way that I was supposed to. It has always been more than that." Here he sighed, once again pushing a hand through his hair, but still refusing to open his eyes or tilt his head down. "I don't exactly know when it started, I wish I could pinpoint the moment. If I could, maybe mapping out all the feelings that came after wouldn't be so hard. But it feels, most days, as if I have simply always loved you." At the word love Fred's voice cracked slightly, a skipping record that he fixed with a clearing of his throat. "And it was never like George with his girlfriend's or Charlie with his. I never felt drawn to you for how pretty you were, but you are pretty! Or because I knew you would be easy. It was something else, as if every single thing about you was just opposite enough from me that we fit like puzzle pieces. I thought, back at the beginning, that the way I felt about you would go away if only I waited long enough. But it didn't, Hermione. Every day I saw you, every moment I was away from you, every time you say my name it makes it all the more obvious that whatever this is, it isn't a phase or a flame I can snuff. " He could hear Hermione breathing as he paused, steady and calming. He wanted to stop, to give up and just get out of there before her response could once again crush him. But he pressed on,

"I remember–during the war when you, and Harry, and Ron were gone looking for the Horcruxes–I told George that if we made it through I would tell you how I felt. And then the dust settled, and there was so much death, and I kept putting it off for just one more day. Then one day you were dating Ron. Honestly, if I have one regret, it's that I didn't tell you before, that I couldn't work up the nerve when we were young. I thought I had lost my chance. And so, when you and Ron broke up, the hope slowly grew again. And I guess that night I just couldn't handle the not knowing. I couldn't handle the thought that you might start seeing someone else before I knew if there was any chance you could ever feel for me what I feel for you." He let out a laugh, short and piercing. "I feel for you." He said the words again, wishing he could put in them the true depth of his emotion. He couldn't say _love_ again, the first time it slipped out had almost broke him. So _feel_ would have to suffice. He was running out of words, out of steam. The tears that had begun to gather as he spoke, the ones filled with fear, and regret, and relief, and so many other tricky emotions were beginning to fill his voice. How silly he must seem to her. "And I know that it is an impossible position I am putting you in. But how I see it is this. I fucked up the moment I cornered you in the shop. I made it worse by avoiding you. So I could either continue to avoid you forever and lose an chance of being able to be in your life in any capacity, or I could just put it all out there. And now, however you feel...whatever you say...we can move on." He let his voice trail off, the silence enveloping him tugging the last word from his mouth and as it did he felt a weight lift. It was done. No matter what happened next, he had done what he came here to do.

He waited; counting the breaths that dragged up his throat and out his slightly parted lips. 13 breaths. 19. On the 26th breath he heard the shifting of her body against the couch. He dared not open his eyes, at least he knew she had not quietly left the room. 29. 32 breaths later and he felt his heart calm slightly. How long had it been? Two or three minutes at least. 38 breaths, and he opened his eyes. It was half because he needed to see her face, to try and gage something of her reaction, but also because as he calmed down he began to feel childish. This was not a game of hide and seek, this was not a contest of wills. Keeping his eyes shut would do nothing to sway her answer, it only prolonged the silence. As he slowly opened them, light filling his vision, he inhaled sharply in surprise. Hermione was not where he had been expecting her to be, perched on the edge of the brown couch, lips pulled into a tight frown, still avoiding his gaze. She was inches away, and looking directly at him.

Hermione was not sure exactly when she decided to stand up, or really if she decided. One moment she was seated and the next she was standing, and from then she felt herself move closer and closer to him. When Fred first started speaking, she held her breath until her lungs burned. When she finally relented, sucking in a air in one rasping gulp, she was so worried he would stop. He seemed so fragile there, as if on the edge of a precipice. Just as with the standing, Hermione could not pinpoint the exact moment she began crying. It wasn't until the several tears, warm and salty, rolled across her lips at once did she realize it. Her own reaction was baffling to her, until she realized that all of this painful confusion was in her head. That she had let her logical side become so wrapped up in the fears of it that she hadn't noticed that her heart (Or wherever it was that those soft and tender feelings grow) had already decided to care for him. As this realization came over her, that the tears were not sad or angry or confused, they were the only way her body knew to express the joy over his words that her mind resisted, she found herself standing.

She had heard the tears in his voice too, but she was sure they were not joyful. How terrible this must have been for him. To drag himself here, to open himself wide and vulnerable. She fought the urge to interrupt him, to calm his fears and tell him that he needn't finish because she had already given up the all the resistance she could muster. But she didn't, she couldn't. And after he finished she was surprised to find she could not say it then either. She was standing close to him now, and moving a bit closer with each breath. Her tongue felt heavy with the words, thick as honey. But to say them meant no going back. The confusion had slowly dissipated during his monologue, but the fear remained. It was writhing in her because to accept her feelings, to display them, meant dealing with the repercussions.

But then he opened his eyes.

She was closer to him than she had ever been. She noticed the sheen of tears that threatened to spill out of the corner of his left eye, the right not far behind. She saw how his chest seemed to heave with each breath, as if he was forcing the air into noncompliant lungs. She noticed that his hands still shaking, leaves in a early spring breeze. He smelled of sage, and of wood smoke, and of something that was perhaps a scent of shampoo. He was shocked to see her so close, and suddenly embarrassment mingled with the raging tempest of fear. He blinked, he did not look away. His words, all of them, seemed to hang in the small space between them in thick lines so that she had to try several times to form the words she wanted to say to get them out. Finally she did, the sound crossing the distance easily. The quiver in her voice a tiny wave of fear, white topped and foamy escaping with the words,

"I feel for you too." She was expecting more silence, perhaps that her words might become caught in all of his and never reach him. She expected his to back away, to realize that he did not want her to return his feelings. She expected maybe even for him to stare in disbelief. In the brief seconds it took her words to stretch across the space, the fear inside turned her nearly seasick. But then, he was kissing her, mouth crashing into hers with enough force to knock her back a step. The waves stilled instantly, gone was every thought but the hint of cinnamon on his tongue mingled with salt that could have been from his tears or hers, she could not tell who was crying. She did not care. After a few moments a laugh, long and true bubbled up from inside Fred and broke their contact. He leaned back for a moment, his eyes tracing over her face, wide with a wonder. When he kissed her once more, short and painfully sweet, she could feel his smile tugging his lips upward, impossible to fight, she smiled back, reveling in the contagiousness of his joy.

Author's Note: Here you are friends! Thank you, as always, for being as stellar as you are! I am constantly astounded by your kindness! I'll hopefully have another part up by the end of the week.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...unless you count all seven books I haul with me to college every semester.


	21. Part 20:

Part 20:

George was waiting on the couch. Well, really he was sleeping on the couch, but his intention had been to wait. He was still dressed in his work clothes, a smattering of instant darkness powder on his shoulder from a mishap around lunch. There were plenty of mornings, back in those weeks when he and Angelina were still in those early throws, where he would lurk back into the flat with the sunrise to find Fred asleep on the couch, waiting to see him safely home. Now it was his turn. He wasn't quite sure when he noticed his brother's absence, but once he did it was all he could think about. George, once he closed the shop with still no sign of Fred's return had planned to stay awake, to be poised and ready with questions the moment Fred entered the flat. But instead, the loud pop of apparition jerked him from sleep so violently that he rolled sideways off the couch, knocking his elbow on the old coffee table.

"Shit!" He moaned, sitting up and trying to orient himself. It was dark, he forgot he turned off the light when he decided to just nap for a moment.

"What are you doing on the floor?" Fred's voice came from his right. He looked seeing the looming shadow of his brother right before he reached over and turned on the lamp. The yellow light made George blink rapidly as everything came into focus.

"I didn't start out that way." He answered Fred, who was in the process of removing his coat. He thought for a moment, the haze of sleep clouding over the reason for his being on the couch in the first place. As Fred bent to untie one of his shoes, George remembered. "Where were you?" He hadn't intended it to sound as accusatory as it did. But as the words left his mouth he couldn't help but notice how parental they sounded. Fred seemed to notice too because he immediately stood straight, affixing a look of horror to his face.

"Mum?! What are you doing possessing George? Or is it polyjuice potion?!" George rolled his eyes and Fred grinned. He seemed lighter physically somehow, like his shoulders weren't slumping as much, even at the late hour.

"Jokes aside," He said pulling himself up back onto the couch, "Where were you? It's…" He glanced at his wrist, realising he didn't wear a watch just pointed to the window where the deep blue of very early morning pressed against the glass. "Really late! You always tell me when you're going to be out late with Lee or something. What's up?" Fred didn't go out late ever, but George felt that pointing that out would only add to the accusatory nature of this whole discussion. He assumed that Fred would sigh, as he always did, and settle into the chair across from him and explain to him everything that had just happened with Hermione. (George wasn't an idiot, he knew if Fred was sneaking off it was because of the girl.) He was sure Fred would get that gross far off smile that he got whenever he talked about Hermione, maybe they would even drink a little, if it wasn't too close to morning, and whatever strange rift that seemed to be opening between them would close. But that didn't happen. Instead, George watched as Fred's face changed. His eyes began to drift upward, no longer meeting George's inquisitive stare, and his shoulders stiffened. A grin that attempted to seem relaxed and playful but was tight around the eyes formed on Fred's face and he bent back down to pull off his shoes.

"I went and saw Ginny, she's been bugging me to visit her at the practice pitch for ages and it was a bit warmer today. Then I went out for drinks with her and her teammates. Sorry if you were worried. I thought you'd be out with Angelina." As he spoke he gave a shrug and retreated into his room. As the door clicked shut behind his brother, George leaned back heavily against the couch. This was new. In their whole lives they did not lie to each other. Well, no _real_ lies. There were the little exaggerations or manipulations of course, but never with the big stuff. It was strange, to see the way Fred seemed to feel no guilt over it. What George had hoped would close the gap that had opened between in the past month did quite the opposite. His stomach twisted sickeningly, and he wished he would have just gone to bed and not asked any questions. He stared at scratch in the paint on Fred's bedroom door, the dark line running from the door handle to the top of the doorframe. He stood and walked so that he was close enough to run his finger over it, feel the rough edges. He listened, hoping for some sound from the other side of the door. There was only silence. Even though only a few inches of wood and a couple flimsy hinges stood between the twins, George felt a chasm ripping open beneath his feet, dividing them, ripping at the stitches that had held them together since birth. His hand fell from where it had been spread over the door, he returned to his own room. The flat fell silent except for the slow tick of a clock hanging in the kitchen as it sang out each passing second to the indigo sky.

Fred did not mean to lie. He had planned to simply sneak back into his room and have the whole night to decide how much he was going to share with his brother. Even that felt wrong, the thought of having to selectively pick how much to tell. But like before, there was a sweetness to knowing that he and Hermione were the only two people in the whole world who knew their conversation. That bubble would burst soon enough, and when it did all of those messy bits about Ron and family would have to be dealt with, but he just wanted a day...or maybe two where he didn't have to analyze it. But even with that knowledge he had never intended to flat out lie to George. The thought never even occurred to him. He was planning on twisting the truth, on just not telling him the full extent of his conversation with Hermione. But when he had seen George waiting up, ready with questions that couldn't be easily answered he suddenly found himself lying.

Once safely behind his bedroom door he lowered himself into the chair, taking a deep breath. He felt nauseous, most of the joy that flooded his system had dissipated as he watched a look of betrayal flash across George's face. This wasn't an easy fix, and it wasn't a lie that could be kept up. Ginny would never confirm that idiotic story and then where would he be? He stayed still until he heard George's bedroom door close. Then, as quietly as he could, he laid down in bed, fully clothed. This day had brought too many emotions to him. They were tangling up upon themselves so that now even the memory of Hermione's lips against his, the feel of her weaving into his hair as he held her as close as possible, was now tinged with the guilt he felt over lying to George. Eventually, after an hour or so of attempting to think his way around the situation, Fred drifted to sleep, his shirt button pressing a divot into the skin on his neck, he hand held over his lips as if to keep the memory of Hermione's kiss from escaping during the night.

Author's Note: Okay so I honestly started this chapter and it was going to be fluffy and romantic and cute, but it felt wrong! I promise we will get to that soon, but I just felt it would be ingenuous for Fred and Hermione to kiss and then suddenly all is sunny in the world. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this part even if it isn't a happiness filled. As always, I am blown away by your kindness to me and your interest in this story! Y'all are rad as hell!

Disclaimer: I finally bought a jean jacket so I would have a collar to pin my Harry Potter pin to...but that is the only Harry Potter I own...


	22. Part 21

Part 21:

Hermione's dreams were beautiful. When she woke, she could remember nothing but a color, a bright sunset orange...a Fred Weasley orange.

And when she woke, she was greeted by that same orange. It was longer, though, hanging over her face as Ginny Weasley shook her shoulders. Hermione let out a yelp.

"Oops!" The intruder said quickly moving once Hermione's eyes grew slightly less large. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You're in my house!" Hermione said. Sleep still clung to her so the only hoarse words that actually escaped were "my house!" Ginny laughed, pushing against Hermione's legs to create room to sit.

"Well I would have apparated outside and knocked but you live in a neighborhood full of muggles...honestly it's your own fault." She patted Hermione's cheek. "I _am_ sorry for scaring you. But I showed up like fifteen minutes ago and it's almost ten, and I have to be at work soon, but I _had_ to ask you a question." Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to control her annoyance. She scooted up into a sitting position and motioned to Ginny.

"Gon on..what's this question that couldn't wait until a decent hour." Ginny stood, extending a hand to Hermione.

"While I was waiting I made coffee...come on. This isn't a question I want to ask grumpy, sleepy Hermione." With a groan Hermione got out of bed and padded along the hall after Ginny. Ginny handed over the cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from where Hermione had slouched. The redhead waited, tapping her fingers against the woodgrain of the table. Hermione had never seen her look nervous before. The annoyance evaporated.

Fred dreamed that his bed was filled with snakes, red eyed and writhing. Some were as small as his pinky, with diamond patches and flicking tongues, others the length of Fred himself. When he tried to jump from the bed, he realized the floor was no longer there. He was in an ocean, the dark as oil with ripples of blue and silver. Moving to the far edge of his bed, balancing one foot on the headboard, he searched the horizon for light. There was none. There was nothing but the sound of waves slapping black water up onto the bed, and the low hiss of the snakes. And when one of the largest of the bunch began to encircle his ankles the yell he let out made no sound. He felt it in his throat, the ripping sensation of a scream, but it was as if the very air swallowed the noise before it could even reach his ears. There was no one to hear it anyway. He felt it then, the sinking, noticed that the dark water was lapping against his calves. He felt something moving up his back, twisting around his chest. And as Fred woke with a sharp inhale, sweat stinging his eyes, the word "alone" was stuck against his lips.

George did not dream...because George did not sleep. He lay awake, the coils of his mattress pressing into his back, toying with a loose string on his pillowcase. When the sky had shifted from navy blue to grey, and he could hear the first sounds of movement from the street below, he went down to the workroom. George buried himself in one of his old project journals, transcribing lists of ingredients onto fresh parchment for ideas that he knew he would never try. He did not look up when he heard the back door open. He did not stop writing when a mug of coffee, still steaming, was set beside him. It was not until Fred had pushed past the curtain and out into the shop that George stilled. When he glanced at the list, he had written "Powdered Bat's Wing" four times. On the last "g" he had pushed down hard enough that the quill punctured the parchment. He had not decided what he would do about the night before, in fact he had been spending a great amount of effort to _avoid_ thinking about he failed, and he remembered the level of ease in which Fred lied to him, a rock would form in the general region of his gut.

For a brief moment, towards the end of his sleepless night, George had entertained the idea that maybe Fred was telling the truth. Maybe he had been acting strangely for some other reason. Or maybe Hermione had _also_ gone out with Ginny and her friends. As he let this thought expand he could not help but sigh from the literal relief it seemed to bring to whatever internal would his twin had caused. But that was short lived, and he had once again returned to his darker thoughts. But in the morning, as George eyed the coffee Fred had brought he was once again hit by the overwhelming urge to believe him. Perhaps this was because buying into the lie meant they could move on, or maybe it was just because–even now–the thought of Fred lying to him refused to fit into the picture he had of his brother.

He could hear him out in the shop, speaking to Verity as if nothing was the matter. George laid the notebook aside. Was he overreacting? He rested his head against the cool wood of the table. He didn't think he was. If Ron or Ginny or even Charlie had lied, it would be okay. Sure he would hope that any of his siblings would tell him of any important events or emotions...but with Fred it was different. It had always been different. And lately, even before the Hermione situation had reached some form of boiling point, George had felt the distance. Maybe that was just part of becoming adults. The older you grow the further you get from the people who love you most. George stood. His movement jostling the table enough that several drops of coffee splattered onto some nearby sales reports. He refused to believe that this change between them was irreversible. He moved to the back door, his feet loud against the floor as he pulled his coat from the peg on the wall. He didn't bother shutting the door as he left, disapparating halfway down the ally, far enough that Fred would not hear. He was going to find Ginny. He didn't confirmation that Fred had lied to him, once he had that he could finally unravel the mess of emotions that had kept him from sleep.

Author's note: Ahh, it has been so long! I really am sorry. After getting back to the states I had a flurry of a month filled with family health issues, a move to a new state, a new job and mess of other things. But I finally finished this chapter and hopefully the next one will take WAY less time...I promise we will get back to more lovey dovey stuff soon. Ginny should set George straight ;) Anyway, you are some of the best people around and I am so thankful for you and your relentless support. Stay rad!

Disclaimer. I don't own Harry Potter...or a lint roller that actually works.


	23. Part 22:

Part 22:

Ginny Weasley had been patient. After Fred had visited her at the quidditch pitch it had taken all the self restraint she had not to follow after him. But she knew her brother, and she knew he wouldn't wait long. Ginny often found it funny how Fred had fooled himself into thinking no one could see the torch he held for Hermione. Ginny had known since their school years.

The day of her conversation with Fred, she had stayed up late, hoping for an owl or a visit from her brother or her best friend. Had she been wrong? Had she led Fred astray and he was now somewhere drunk and heartbroken? She shook the idea from her head. She was never wrong about stuff like this, especially not when it came to Hermione.

Harry, admirably did not question the source of Ginny's nervous energy. He only occasionally gave her arm a reassuring stroke whenever her pacing brought her within range. Later, once the night had enveloped their flat and his eyes had become heavier with each blink, he gave her forehead a tender kiss before padding up the stairs and into the bedroom. Ginny waited a bit longer, resisting the urge just to pop over to Fred and George's just to check if he was alright. Eventually, she followed Harry and crawled, exhausted into bed.

Ginny woke later than she normally would, her stomach already knotted with anticipation. Carefully unspooling herself from Harry's sleeping grasp, she had tiptoed down the stairs and gathered her quidditch uniform and a slightly overripe banana from the kitchen table. As quietly as she dared she stated her floo address and stepped into the green flames, careful not to knock soot out onto the rug. Crookshanks greeted her as she stepped out into Hermione's flat. She paused for a moment, tilting her head to listen for the telltale sounds of life from the house. From upstairs came the faint creak of a bedspring. Could Hermione still be asleep? Her eyebrows pulled together out of concern, maybe something really had gone wrong. The bedroom door protested slightly, letting out a faint squeak, as Ginny snuck through and into where Hermione slept. Ginny let out a sigh, loud in the quiet of the room, when she saw that even in sleep Hermione was smiling. Good. She must have been right. Now all she had to do was wait until she woke up.

They lobby of the ministry was busy, a tour group was stopped in the middle of the floor and a middle aged witch was explaining the application process and job benefits. Most of the group, fresh graduates, looked bored. One man, a little older than the rest, was taking furious notes. Ron shook his head as he passed, accidentally knocking into the shoulder of one of woman passing the other way. He just needed a break, a few minutes to eat some lunch away from it all. Everything had gone wrong this morning, it just seemed like one of those days. He had overslept, the toast he ate as he got dressed was burnt, and when he finally made it to his desk he found an entire stack of reports that his new assistant had gotten wrong. And now he had to practically fight his way out of the building. Ron needed a drink. Or maybe two.

"Ron!" The voice that called out to him was familiar but unexpected. He turned to see a tall redhead pushing his way towards him. Fred was waving a few sheets of parchment at him to get his attention. No wait, one ear, it was George. Either way, the twin was by his side in a moment.

"What're you doing here?" Ron asked, doing his best not to let the general annoyance that was coursing through him show.

"Good to see you to!" George said, smacking him in the arm with the papers. "I came to drop off a few things. Headed out already? It's not even noon!"  
"Lunch." Ron said, suddenly remembering that each second he stood here was another off the brief hour of escape he got. He was too preoccupied to notice the way George's mouth was downturned, or how his shoulders seemed a little more hunched than normal. He didn't even notice the way his voice was filled with fake levity, and not the contagious joy that could usually be counted on.

"Mind if I tag along? I'm starving, plus Mum's been on my arse about spending more time with you." There was a slight hint of desperation in his voice that Ron did notice. He turned to look at his brother, scanning him.

"What about those permits?" George shrugged.

"They're not due until next week, I can just send them by owl." Ron raised an eyebrow, trying to think of an escape. There was nothing he wanted less than to have to spend his break with his brother.

"I'll buy." George offered, a plea clear in his voice. He seemed to notice it then, straightening up a little and fixing a grin on his face "I'll do anything to avoid the lunch rush at the shop." Ron let out a huge sigh as another shoulder bumped into his, knocking him slightly off balance as a large wizard brushed past.

"Fine. Whatever, as long as you pay." And he trudged off, not waiting to see if George was following.

"So what happened with you last night?" Ginny said, her voice doing a poor job at masking her childlike anticipation. Hermione rubbed at her eyes, a little left over mascara smudging down onto her cheek.

"What d'you mean? I just stayed in a did some work." She felt her stomach twist painfully as the lie slipped out, but she had promised Fred to keep it a secret. He didn't want it getting to George before he could tell him. And in all honesty, the thought of Ron knowing about whatever it was that was happening with Fred made her head spin. It was too early for any of this. Ginny frowned. She hadn't been expecting a lie, but by the faint pink beginning to color Hermione's neck and ears, her suspicion was confirmed.

"You know you can tell me anything. I'm not going to send out an effing newsletter about it." Hermione slumped back against the kitchen chair she was seated in.

"Gin, there's nothing to tell you."

"Promise?" Ginny leaned forward, forcing eye contact.

"Uh huh." Hermione couldn't force out the yes that was stuck in her throat, so a nod would have to suffice. Ginny leaned back from her, shoulders set. Her jaw seemed a little tighter and her left ear twitched slightly. She was angry. The guilt made Hermione nauseous. "Listen." She said, rubbing her temple. It really was too early. "When there is something to tell you, I promise you'll be the first person I tell. Rain or shine, night or day, I will find you." This seemed to soften a little of the eyebrow furrow, but Ginny was still frowning. The redhead let out a sigh,

"Whatever, Hermione. Tell me or don't." Ginny knew she was being cruel, that her flippant response would only distress her friend, but she didn't care. If it wasn't for her, Fred never would have said or done whatever it is he clearly did. Hermione opened her mouth to respond but the loud squeak of the Ginny's chair against the tile floor silenced her. There was a loud pop as Ginny disapparated. Leaving Hermione, still in pajamas, in the empty kitchen.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.  
Author's Note: How long has it been? So long that I wonder if any of you are still out there! Thank you for your overwhelming patience in these last months. I'm in the process of applying to graduate school (in fiction) which means so much of my time is writing other things that this fell by the wayside. I make no promises for how quickly I can update, but it won't ever be this long again. Hopefully I'll have the next part up in the next week or so. You all are some of the best people around!  
Stay Sexy!

~E 


	24. Part 23:

Part 23:

Fred's day swirled by in a haze of colors and laughter. It was unremarkable, and thankfully swift. He noticed around lunch that George had been gone for quite a while, but his mind had no room for suspicion today, it was overwrought with thoughts of Hermione. There was joy, so much joy as he replayed over and over the feel of her lips against his. But there was a knot of worry that began somewhere around two PM and had been steadily growing. What if, after a night's sleep, she rethought it all? What if it had been nothing but an emotional reaction? As Verity switched the sign to CLOSED, locking the door as she did so, Fred sighed. They had stayed open later than he wanted, it was already dark and it felt strange to visit Hermione two nights in a row. He turned to ask his brother about dinner but caught the sight of his red hair as he ducked out the back. A small tinge of some emotion caught in Fred's chest. Could George be mad at him for something? Had he done anything? Their conversation from the night before was hazy with sleep, but nothing came to mind that might upset the easy going of the two twins. Fred shrugged, assuming he must have just been rushing to meet Angelina.

"Big plans tonight, Boss Man?" Verity asked, as she pushed her arms into her coat.

"What?" Fred asked, pulled from thought.

"You've been checking your watch every three minutes for the past hour." Verity leaned against the counter, laughing slightly. "You got a date or something?"

"Only if you'll finally accept my offer!" He winked. She pretended to think for a moment.

"Well, I don't know if Maureen would be too happy with it."

"I'd fight her for your love anyday." Fred said, taking what he hoped was a powerful stance. Verity only laughed, pushing his shoulder as she passed.

"G'night, Fred."

"Night." Fred called back right before she pushed through the back door. He let out a sigh, now came the hard part. Did he show up at Hermione's door unannounced for the second night in a row, or should he just wait for her. In all honesty, none of his plans had gotten this far. They always ended with him finally getting the nerve to tell her how he felt. And at that moment, as her eyes displayed some sort of undying love, the fantasy would fade to black like the ending of a film. He never considered that there would be more awkwardness _after_ their first kiss. He felt his entire body warm at the thought of that kiss, how it had been everything he had hoped for and more. And in some ways, the possibility that it wouldn't happen again was more painful than the thought of it never happening in the first place.

Through the front windows, a loud burst of laughter drew his attention. A couple, far older than his own parents, were walking past the shop. The man, his coat hanging loose off his shoulders, kept trying to kiss the woman, his thin lips moving towards her cheek. She was pulling away, leaning just out of reach and laughing. Eventually, she relented, staying still with a calm smile as he made contact. She took his hand then, both gloved in dark blue knit, and pulled him forward, feet shuffling over the uneven stone.

Fred would wait. Yes, he had to. It seemed as if everything in him was pushing him back to her, desire beating heavy in his chest, but he needed to move slow. How many years had he been sure of her? Seven, Nine? He had lost count, but it didn't matter. His mind was made up, so confident in his choice that he wanted nothing more than to sweep her off her feet and carry her into the sun set. But how long had it been for her? Not nearly so long. She still needed to decide, to be as sure as Fred. So he would give her time, as painful as it might be. That was the only way to make sure that seventy years on, when the world had settled to pale grays against their wrinkled skin, she would still love him.

Hermione wasn't hungry. The bowl of soup resting on the nearby table had grown cold almost an hour before. Now a thin film was beginning to pull across the top. She should eat. But her stomach had begun twisting itself in knots around five, and it was only getting worse. Crookshanks, having given up that she would stop her pacing so that he could crawl across her lap, had settled in the doorway, tail twitching as his eyes followed her.

Hermione had been fine most of the day, really she had. Work had kept her busy as always, she even managed a little lunchtime chit chat with a woman who sat beside her in the break space. But once she got home, once the house was empty around her and everything was quiet, she started to crack. It felt as if little pieces of her mind were coming loose, floating away, sticking to the spot on the carpet where Fred had stood. At the thought of his name her stomach tightened almost painfully. She wanted to see him, to kiss him. Hermione forced air through her teeth and down into her lungs. She needed to calm herself. It was as if he had somehow undone her, throwing away all of that caution that had served her well. She, for the hundredth time, resisted the urge to go to his flat. She wasn't some silly schoolgirl, sneaking up into his dormitory. No, she needed to be rational about all of this. As much as she might like to fling herself into him, it wouldn't be helpful. Not now, when there was still so much to figure out. Besides, what if after having time to think it over, he decided she wasn't what he wanted after all. Showing up there wouldn't do at all.

Crookshanks seemed to be tired of watching her. With a low meow he stood, shaking slightly as if loosening his muscles, and walked out into the front hall. Hermione sighed. So what if she and Fred really did try whatever was blooming between them? As soon as she thought this, Ron's face flashed in her mind. She felt an ache, deep somewhere within her. Oh, Ron. Would this break him? He, out of all of them, had fared the worst since the battle. There was a heaviness there, now, something in the tilt of his shoulders. Some days, Hermione feared that Ron hated her. That deep down the indifference he seemed to display since their rather fiery burnout was really a facade, hiding some deep buried resentment. Would this bring it to the surface? Was it worth the risk of destroying the peace that this group had so carefully constructed? Was Fred worth the risk? And she thought again of his smile after their kiss, of the way his eyes looked at her with a sort of urgency and expectancy, as he was expecting her –at any given moment – to disappear. The edges of the memory were slick with joy, a sticky feeling that coated her tongue like honey as she thought of him. She felt the uptick in her pulse, the way her heart seemed to already know the response before she did. He was worth it, because the heavy press of the _what ifs_ were no where near as terrifying as the thought of never feeling the curve of his jaw beneath the skin of her thumb. Yes, Fred was worth it indeed.

Author's Note: To quote a podcast I listened to on my way to work this morning: "Sorry so late. Sorry so sloppy. Love you like a sister. " But really, I am beyond thankful for you all. You have patience that could move mountains.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter


	25. Part 24:

Part 24:

It was half three by the time George's heavy footfalls landed on the stairs leading up to their flat. Fred was in his room, attempting to lure his body to sleep when he heard the front door knock loudly against the wall. Curiosity and annoyance peaking, he moved to the door and stuck his head out.

"Hey! Do you know how late it is? Shut it would you." He said it with a smile, no real edge in his voice. After all, he had come home late and drunk plenty of times. Granted, George was usually right beside him, cheeks flushed from walking. And as he realized this, that in all his years there had never been a night out without his twin, hurt began to bloom in his chest. A dark hurt, one that had been laying roots for the past few days with each act of his brother's indifference.

George turned to look at him, paused halfway in kicking his shoes off in the doorway. They made eye contact and for a moment Fred thought his brother was about to apologize, but instead he grimaced. Leaving the left shoe still half laced and on his foot, George stalked by Fred's doorway, muttering a "fuck you" as he passed. The slam of George's door seem to reverberate through Fred's entire body, an electric shock. Brow furrowed, he went out into the living room, bending to pick up the discarded shoe and scarf. He opened George's door without knocking, and threw the items onto the rug where they bounced noiselessly.

"What gives?" Fred said, not crossing the threshold, and instead looming in the doorway over George who was laying back across the bed, heels of his hands pressed down into his eyes as if he had a headache. Somewhere in his mind he knew now was not the time to pick the fight he had felt brewing for days. It was so late, and tiredness was making his temper short. But the voice urging him to close to the door and go back to bed was not loud enough. So he stayed, staring at George until he answered, and when he didn't, Fred repeated the question. Louder this time.

"What gives? You just disappeared for hours." George rolled forward, so he was sitting. Fred noticed the faint line of a bruise beginning to color his cheekbone. Half the hair on George's head was flattened from where he had laid on the bed and he took a moment to run his fingers through it before finally answering. He wasn't drunk, Fred realized. A little tipsy perhaps, he could smell the sharp sting of whiskey in the air, but George's voice was a little too clear when he eventually answered.

"Sometimes I've just gotta get away from…" George paused for a moment, seeming to consider what exactly he was escaping. Eventually, he gestured towards Fred.

"From me?" This time Fred couldn't control his tone, something halfway between several emotions, the fine line between pain and rage.

"From all your shit." George stood then. "Your lies, or the games, or whatever it is you've been doing for the past week." He clarified once they were eye to eye. Fred saw something in his brother, past the hard exterior of indifference he was attempting to create. There was a darkness, a wound deep and aching that Fred had unknowingly stepped into. This felt different, not the fights that had usually broken out between them. Again the voice told him to wait, to back away and let them both be sober, and awake, and calm. But this time it was pride that won, a righteous indignation that George's reaction was undeserved.

"What lies?"

"Come off it. Can we not play this stupid game for once?" George wasn't quite shouting, but it was close. Fred noticed the way George's shoulders seemed to rise and fall sporadically as if he had to remember to breathe. "You've been lying to everyone. I am your twin, and whatever rubbish you decide to tell mum, or Ron, or whoever...you aren't supposed to tell it to me. That's not how this works." George gave him a shove, nothing hard, but it did knock Fred a few inches into the hall. As he did, George took a deep breath. Fred could see just how hard he was trying to concentrate, trying to shake the what little alcohol induced distraction might be lingering.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hermione!" This George did shout, so loud and garbled as if it got stuck behind his teeth, that it took Fred a moment to decipher what the word that been. But once he did, the bubbling anger receded immediately. A pot taken off the stove, he felt cold suddenly. He had been lying. George, seeming to have just released some sort of flood gate, continued to shout. And as he did he backed away from Fred, as if being close to him was causing physical pain. "Did you really think I would care if you two started shagging or whatever? Hell, I was the one that convinced you that you had feelings for her at all! So why in Merlin's name did you have to lie to me? You've been lying for days and it hurts, it hurts like hell to have look at you and know that you keep picking her over me. I am your brother, your blood."

"Oh." The word slipped out a quiet whisper. This reaction, the total acceptance seemed to take George aback. Fred slumped back so he against the far wall. "Well listen, it's not –"

"I know what it's like. I'm not an idiot." George had stopped shouting and sat down hard on the bed again. "Just get out of here. I can't do this right now." Instead of relenting, of returning to his room to let George sleep off a bit of the anger that was still rolling off him in billows, Fred moved so he was in the room. "I said, leave!" George said, not making eye contact. "I don't want to listen to you give a bunch of excuses for a bunch of lies there was no reason for you to tell." Fred sat down on the bed, up by the pillows so he wasn't quite within punching distance in case George got any ideas.

There was silence for a minute, maybe two, and George's eyes pressed closed as if he was trying to make his brother disappear. Eventually, Fred let out a shaking breath and turned to face him.

"I lied." He waited, one breath, two, four, hoping George would open his eyes but he didn't, so Fred continued. "I lied, and it had nothing to do with you. I lied because I was afraid, I still am afraid." George opened his mouth but Fred cut him off, "Not because I thought you would disapprove or some shit, I could date Moaning Myrtle and you wouldn't care, I know that. I am afraid because I think it will all disappear, like a bursting bubble." He made a _pop_ sound. "I didn't have some long planned scheme to win her over, it wasn't something I hid from you. It sort of just happened, she kissed me." He had to pause here as the thought of Hermione's lips against his made warmth radiate throughout his entire being. "But when it did I felt something change, something shift inside of me. This thing I had wanted for so long was now sitting in my hand, it was so fragile and so close. I haven't even talked to her since then, and I am terrified that when I do she will say it's all a joke. So when you asked me what happened, I couldn't tell you. Because if I said it out loud and then it all came to nothing, it would be so much worse. When I think about that–about her deciding she doesn't want me and me having to come back here to this flat, hat in hand and tell you, it feels like I can't breathe." He stopped then, the word "breathe" reminding him to suck in a lungful of air. His mouth felt dry, and he couldn't swallow a lump forming in his throat. There was more silence now, different silence. It seemed to burn the air, leaving Fred's skin tingling as he waited for George's response. Eventually the left eye opened, followed by the right, and George stared at a spot just to the side of Fred's face.

"So, uh," He said, his voice distant at first and then coming into focus like a picture, "you kissed her did you?" And the tiniest hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Fred felt the weight beginning to lift. He was, at least partially, forgiven with his long and emotional confession.

"I really am sorry." Fred pushed on, not wanting to let this end with a joke and have no true forgiveness granted. "You know that you are important, more important than even myself. And that's why it was so hard to tell you. I didn't do it to hurt you or keep you out of the loop." He tried to say it definitely, but the slightest hint of an uptone at the end made it sound almost like a question. Had he meant to hurt his brother? He admitted deep inside that perhaps there was a small part that enjoyed knowing there were things about him George didn't know, but he hadn't really wanted those secret things to hurt him. Right?

"Alright." George said, looking him in the face. "Enough. I just wish you would've told me but that's over and done, and you can't stuff an egg back up a chicken's ass. So let's just drop it and you get out of my room before you get all weepy on me. I'm nowhere near drunk enough for that." And Fred, smile unrelenting, did as he was told. And he couldn't help but pause outside the door, listening to the deep sigh George let out. Turning off the hall light as he ducked back into his room. For the moment, all was well.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter obviously...

Author's Note: A million and a half apologies for how long you've waited for this next sub par chapter. I could give you a handful of excuses if that would help. I am inspired by you all every day and I am so thankful that you put up with long wait times and bad grammar. I am hoping to get back on a regular writing schedule and keep this bad boy moving. I am also planning on getting better at responding to reviews, so feel free to leave them. It was a year ago yesterday that I posted the first chapter of this story, and I am astounded by the support I have gotten. You all keep me writing and keep me sane. Thank you more than words can say.

Emma.


	26. Part 25:

Part 25:

Hermione prided herself on knowing most things, or least knowing enough about most things. But it had been three days since Fred had showed up at her flat, three days since the kiss, and she had no clue what to do. It felt silly, really, to be standing in front of her fireplace as if the flames would spark green and he would appear. She was no damsel in distress, there was no tower that she must wait in for her prince to arrive, and yet, she felt stuck. There was no laid out path, no roadmap. And so, often throughout the past days she found herself in front of the fireplace, or near the door, stuck halfway been wanting to go to see him and terrified of all that would have to be said. She wished she could talk to Ginny, to explain it all. But what if Ginny was angry? She had already dated one of her brothers, and that had ended oh so poorly. What if Ginny didn't want her to be with Fred? There were enough unknowns already, she didn't need to add Ginny into it just yet.

From upstairs, she heard the soft thump of Crookshanks jumping down from something, probably the dresser. The sound brought her out of the thick haze of anxiety. She focused slightly, breathing in. This couldn't go on forever. Fred had been the one to arrive at her doorstep, so shouldn't that mean that it was her turn to arrive at his? All well in good in thought, but as she reached her hand forward to the small jar of floo powder on the mantel, she paused. What would she say to him? Hi there, remember when you confessed your secret feelings for me and then I kissed you? What was that about, huh? She cringed at the thought. But what was there to do but try, at least. Perhaps once she saw him the words would come, some way to express all the fear and doubt that was tied up with the melting desire to feel his lips against hers again.

A knock, harsh and fast, on the door made Hermione jump. A tiny smile forced its way onto her face as she padded down the hallway towards the door. He had come. And as she realized this, the thought that only a few inches of door stood in between them, her worry seemed small. He was Fred. She had known him for years. He was not one to back down, simply because his family might disapprove. And as she unhooked the latch, she realized that she had made up her mind the moment she kissed him. He was worth it, and no amount of time would change her mind. She flung the door open with, perhaps, a bit too much enthusiasm and it knocked loudly against the wall. The "hello" was snatched from her lips as she realized that it wasn't Fred standing in the door as she had thought.

"Excited, aren't 'ya?" Her neighbor, an elderly muggle man who hated cats and therefore Hermione, stood a few paces back from the door.

"Sorry, Mr. Feldheim. What can I do for you?" She tried to mask the disappointed in her voice, but she could still hear it. The man didn't seem to notice, as he wiped his nose across the camel colored sleeve of his jumper.

"You can keep your cat out of my damn trash bin is what you can do." He said, no more than a mutter. Hermione furrowed her brows.

"Crookshanks doesn't go outside, Mr. Feldheim. I can promise you it wasn't him." She paused for a moment, "but Trixie, across the way, she got a cat a few weeks back. Perhaps it was hers?" The quiet, young neighbor had sheepishly asked her not to alert Mr. Feldheim to her owning a cat, and at the breaking of that oath Hermione felt a twinge of guilt. But Mr. Feldheim was a talker, a ranter really, and since mistaking his appearance for Fred's she was antsy to see him. She could not stand her and listen to him complain about house pets for half an hour. He had turned to look over his shoulder at the offender's door, a wreath still hanging.

"Soon this neighborhood will be overrun, cats breed like bunnies. You know that, Ms. Granger?" But he had already turned and begun towards Trixie's as he said it, so Hermione felt no need to respond.

"Goodnight, Mr. Feldheim." She called as she shut and relatched the door. Turning, she found Crookshanks lying across the bottom step, lazily tonguing his paw.

"Are you taunted him?" Hermione asked, giving his ears a playful scratch. He meowed in response, following her into the kitchen. She dropped a handful of cat food into his dish, and fetched her wand off the table.

"I'll be back a bit later." She said to the cat, although he was busy with his evening snack and didn't even acknowledge her the snap of her disapparation, however, Crookshanks raised his head and looked about the room and flicked his tail twice before turning his face back into the dish.

Hermione wobbled slightly as she apparated to the ledge outside the Weasley brother's flat. Careful not to step backwards and tumble down the stairs, she found her footing and took several deep breaths in. It was dark, and like a idiot she had forgot to put on a coat. The coldness spurred her to action despite a small tempest of fear raging inside, and she gave a few short raps against the door. A voice called out something that sounded like "coming" from deep inside, and she listened for approaching footsteps. A moment later the door swung open and she was met with first shock and then a lazy smile that stretched from ear to...where a second ear should be. George leaned against the doorframe.

"Well, good evening, Hermione" He gave a mock bow, never breaking eye contact as he did so. There was something in his expression that unsettled her, some deeper emotion she couldn't unravel.

"I, uh," She said, before pausing to clear her throat. "I'm here to see Fred." George nodded his head down.

"He's down in the workroom of the shop, hard at work trying to fix our newest version of the fever fudge. Madam Pomfrey seems to have figured out a way to detect the current one, the old bat. He'll be real glad you're here though." He said, smiling with something that looked almost genuine in his eyes. "The door should be unlocked."

"Thank you, George." Hermione said, a small shiver running up her body as a gust of wind pushed through her. As she made her way down the steps, one creaking loudly under foot, George yelled behind her,

"Just promise you won't shag him on the workbench, I have to use that too you know!" She heard one burst of laughter before he shut the door. Hermione felt the blush, and paused outside the back door until it receded. Should she knock or just go in? Suddenly unsure she gave one tepid knock and then opened the door slightly.

Fred had his back to her, hunched over a notebook. The curtain to the main shop was closed, so the only light in the space was from one overhead bulb. It sputtered slightly, and Fred ran a hand through his hair, letting out a small sigh.

"What is it, George? I told you I wasn't hungry."

"You know it isn't good to skip meals. It actually makes concentrating harder." At her voice, he spun around, knocking his elbow against the corner of the desk as he did so.

"Merlin!" He said loudly, grabbing his elbow and hissing slightly. "Hermione! What, what, why are you here.I mean...I'm you're here. I was, I mean, I thought about." He stood quickly, and released the elbow he was nursing. She smiled at his confusion.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to just burst in here." Hermione waited, holding her breath, as Fred blinked rapidly, seeming to overcome a little of the shock. Carefully, and with a slowness that had her heart racing, he took a single step towards her. A smile ghosting across his lips, he whispered

"I'm glad you're here."

Disclaimer: I don't own HP

Author's Note: Two chapters in one weekend...even I am surprised. But when you're a senior, and single, and avoiding TA work, then you write fanfiction and drink wine. Anyway, I love you all. As always, let me know what you think, I so appreciate your comments.

~E


	27. Part 26:

Part 26:

Fred's elbow was aching, shooting up his arm in throbs that matched his racing pulse. Tomorrow, he expected, there was bound to be bruise or at least a lump of swelled skin, making every bend a bit painful. But now, the thought of the pain was shoved aside, overtaken by Hermione. Her face, her closeness, her voice that filled the small space of the workroom. He knew he was staring, his eyes tracing quick over all her features, but the shock of her presence made him bold.

"I'm glad you're here." His voice sounded more confident than he felt, casual and easy, and perhaps that would cover some of his bumbling confusion from a few moments earlier. As he said this, two things happened, both of which made his heart want to pull free of his chest, rip through muscle and bone to go to her. First, she blushed. Even in the low, yellow light he could see the color already present on her cheeks darken. It turned from one of embarrassment to a blush of pleasure, of joy. This alone would have been enough for Fred, but then she smiled. Her entire face softened, hard lines of anxiety or worry easing away into the upturn of her lips. Her lips. Fred wanted to kiss them, to feel them against his own again. It had only been what, three days? Already he felt like a starving man, longing for her just to be close to him. Wishing she would close the distance of the few steps between them, to feel the breath as it pushed out of her lungs. He was shocked at the ferocity of his own thoughts, at the desire there, the assuredness that all would come to fruition.

"Thank you." Her voice was quieter now, making the space feel all the more intimate. "I, uh" she faltered here, seeming unsure of herself. "Well...it's been a few days, and uh," She took a small step back, colliding with the door. For a moment, fear bubbled up in Fred. So fast and so much that he felt his breath suck in from between his teeth. What if this was the let down? What if she had come here to say _thanks, but no thanks_. He forced another breath, slow and steady, he was prepared for that. Whatever it was, he was prepared for. She was watching him, head tilted slightly. Silence enveloped the two, both locked in their own mind. Eventually Fred couldn't stand it, if she needed to turn him down, the least she could do was get on with it.

"You were saying?" He tried to make his voice light, playful, but it only halfway succeeded, coming out in almost a mock. He cringed at the sound. But to his surprise she laughed, leaning backwards so her head was pressed against the door. He noticed how her eyes seemed to close of her own accord.

"I guess I'm sort of bad at this." And it was the slight quiver in her voice that spurred him to speak, the way her head knocked back against the wood as she shook it in, what he thought might be, disbelief.

"What is it you're bad at?" He asked, the softness of his tone accompanied by the rough scrape of his shoe over the concrete of the floor as he took a small step towards her. She opened her eyes, watching the movement.

"Bad at you." Fred raised an eyebrow. Her eyes shifted around the room, never landing on Fred's face for long, still tense. "Not _you,_ you, but….talking about you. You know, you and me." She laid her head back again, this time staring up at the ceiling, the low rafters almost brushing against Fred's head. He was the one to laugh this time, a real one though, and it drew her eyes back down to his. "What?"  
"Do you know how many times you said 'you' in that last sentence? It was far too many." She rolled her eyes, a slight smile easing across her face. Fred thrilled at the sight. "What are you, if I may ask, so bad at saying about you and me?" Her smile had given him a bit of courage, but as he waited for her response, Fred could still feel the persistent thrum of fear knocking against his spine. Hermione looked him up and down, slowly. Suddenly, with a huff of held breath, she pushed herself from the wall, using the momentum to walk past Fred, and sat down heavily onto the bench. As she passed through, her shoulder knocked lightly against his, and he felt his fingers twitch in response, as if calling out to hold hers. Once seated she looked back at him, motioning to a stool that sat opposite the bench. A claudren, waiting to be scrubbed, balanced atop it, but Fred heaved it to the floor and perched on the seat. It felt strange, to sit across from her, to be eye to eye. He noticed the slight twitch in her left eyebrow, the scrunching together and quick release of skin, a nervous habit probably. He, unsure of himself, waited for Hermione to continue.

"We kissed." She said, carefulling bringing her eyes to his. Fred thought she would continue, but she didn't. She just watched him, eyes roving over his face. After a beat he said,

"That we did." Pulling the right corner of his mouth up into a smile at the memory of those moments. She nodded,

"We kissed, because you confessed some long kept…feelings for me." Fred could feel the slick of sweat collecting on his palms. He nodded. She was speaking slowly, tasting each word, measuring it, before speaking. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, to yell something along the lines of _just tell me, could you ever be with me?_ But he restrained himself and waited, resting an elbow across his knees.

"I like to overthink things, to make sure everything is labeled, and charted, and in a line so that all the outcomes are easily predicted. No surprises." She smiled, "But you, Fred, you surprised me." He wasn't quite sure whether or not that was a good thing, but the way her lips curled around his name made it so that he didn't really care. "I wasn't exactly expecting you to show up in my house and…" She trailed off, seeming unsure of how to put Fred's confession into words. He stepped in,

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I–" She interrupted,

"You didn't. I just meant that, in all honesty, I had never thought that you would do something like that. I mean, with me. I never thought you liked me…romantically." Fred's throat was tight, he couldn't respond, so he just looked at her. He knew his eyes must be wide with some unsayable fear, but he didn't care. He leaned forward, towards her. "You're Ron's brother." She said this quietly, as if it was somehow a secret. "Your family is the closest thing I have to family, I don't know what I would do if I lost you." These were the words he had been dreading. The pain was immediate, as if his chest was concaving, falling in upon itself, ribs turning to dust. He felt a sting of tears, the burn in back of his throat, he swallowed once, twice, blinking to clear his eyes. He needed to let her finish, it was only fair. Hermione was still looking at him, holding eye contact as if trying to tether him there.

"For the past couple of days I have been a mess. It's like you suddenly unchecked all my boxes, threw out all my carefully written cue cards. I felt directionless, lost. Because here's the truth, it was easy to say that I felt for you too, when we alone in my flat. When no one else in the world existed, and no one had to know, and there were no expectations for any of it. But outside of that space, that moment, all of the other parts become more complicated. It isn't just about what I feel or don't feel for you. If things went badly, if it ended like Ron and I or worse, I could lose so much. I could lose my family." Fred nodded, noticing the slight quiver of her bottom lip. "And since that moment you left my house I've been going in circles, trying to figure out what I should do. And then I sort of had a revelation." She paused here, just long enough for Fred to wonder if he was supposed to say something. "I realized that the risks are too big, too great. That it should be an easy decision. A path unknown that might destroy a lot of happiness shouldn't be taken just to see where it goes. That's the most logical thing, and I always air of the side of logical." She smiled, as if making fun of herself. "So it didn't make sense that I be so wrapped up in it. Unless, the what if was so important, so worth it, that it made all the risks seem manageable." She stopped there, waiting.

Fred's emotional whiplash from the conversation was too much. He could feel his chest rising and falling, the cool rush of air in and out of his mouth, but his lungs still burned. He tried to form a response, really he did. But it was as if her words were puzzle pieces he couldn't put together. After a moment, seeming to sense his confusion, she leaned towards him.

"I am saying that, you're worth it." She blushed at her own words. "And, uh, if you still feel the same way you did when you came to my house, if you still think I'm worth it, then…" She couldn't find a way to end the sentence so she just stopped. Fred let his eyes drift over her form, noticing the tense splay of her hand over her knee. He considered, briefly, reaching out to touch it, to feel her skin against his. But then he remembered how sweaty his own hands were and thought better of it. Instead he, with as steady and confident of a voice as possible spoke.

"Hermione," He let his tongue linger over her name, placing all the tenderness he felt into it. "You aren't worth it, you are _it_. I would gladly risk anything, gladly give up anything, if it meant that you wanted to be with me. You never have to wonder if I still care for answer will always be _yes_."

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: As always, thank you for your enduring patience with me. It is so appreciated. I've been getting some grad school rejections lately, so knowing you all are here, believing in me and in this work has been so important. Thank you! Anyway, hopefully I will put up something new within a week or so. As usual, I love getting messages and reviews from you, I do my best to answer every one. You all are some of the sweetest people around, I am very lucky.


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